


Never Say Never

by sgamadison



Category: Stargate Atlantis, The School for Good and Evil - Soman Chainani
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:15:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22974628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sgamadison/pseuds/sgamadison
Summary: When Rodney gets kidnapped on an off-world mission, John leaps in to rescue him. Only, who rescues who in the end?
Relationships: Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Comments: 40
Kudos: 88
Collections: Romancing McShep 2020





	Never Say Never

**Author's Note:**

> I began this story several years ago and completely forgot about it--to the point that when I ran across it a while back, I had no idea where I was going with this or what I'd intended to do with it. FINALLY, the title reminded me I'd begun what I'd hoped to be a fusion between SGA and The School for Good and Evil. I still sat on it a while, and then dusted it off for the 2020 RomancingMcShep fest.
> 
> I had a big story to tell and not a lot of time to finish it, so it's rough. No beta, my apologies. This is the first fanfic I've posted in YEARS, so I'm quite rusty, I'm afraid. You find a mistake, please point it out. If you've read The School for Good and Evil, you'll note I've taken some scenes straight from the book, but gave them my own SGA twist, I hope. 
> 
> Thank you, SGA fandom, for being a wonderful place to play. We all could use a little more play in our lives.

John shifted his feet, wiggling his toes inside his boots. Much more of this and he’d have to take a short jog or do some calisthenics to warm up. Flexing the fingers of the hand resting on his P-90, he made sure they weren’t too numb to function properly. Rodney, as usual, had put his own gloves down someplace and had forgotten where he’d left them, so John had sacrificed his pair to Rodney’s use, after they’d had the obligatory argument about whose fingers were the most valuable on this mission: the man doing the repairs or the man guarding the team. Tempting as it had been to make a wiseass remark about whose fingers were the most _talented_ , John had refrained, seeing as they were being watched closely by the people of Tyrlea. Since John wasn’t the only one guarding the team, Rodney had ended up winning that round. John kept an eye on the gloves every time Rodney took them off and wondered if it was possible to place a tracking device on them for future use. Ironically, the man to ask was McKay himself. John could picture the look on Rodney’s face when he suggested it, the way Rodney’s infuriated scowl would turn into a thoughtful speculation as he considered the difficulties in making a tracker small enough to fit on a glove and the best means of building a receiver to monitor it. In the meantime, John steeled himself for cold hands and hoped he wouldn’t get frostbite as a result.

This had better be worth it.

Ronon, who quickly grew bored on these missions where Rodney traded his scientific and engineering expertise for something the expedition wanted (in this case, mineral rights), had gone off with Teyla on a tour of the village. As they were leaving, John had given Ronon the subtle nod that said he knew Ronon was _really_ doing a perimeter check and not using any excuse possible to leave Rodney’s work area. He’d given Teyla an even subtler wink, scarcely a dropping of one eyelid as a sort of thank you for taking Ronon out of their hair.

In Ronon’s defense, Rodney doing repairs wasn’t always the most exciting or most pleasant person to be around. Even as John completed the thought, Rodney’s muffled curse could be heard from inside the depths of the console.

“Bear claws and juju beads! That’s what I have to work with here. I might as well cast a spell over this equipment for all the good I can do.”

Despite the temptation to take a walk with the others whenever Rodney was in this mood, someone had to watch his six.

Literally.

It was one of the perks of volunteering to babysit Rodney while doing repairs. At some point during the process, Rodney was likely to wind up on his knees inside something, his ass thrust up in the air while he muttered inventive curses.

It was a _very_ nice ass.

Unfortunately, this was as close as he came to being able to admire it these days. First Rodney had fallen for Katie Brown, a match that John hadn’t worried about too much because it was obviously doomed from the start. Rodney was a pit bull intellectually and verbally. In comparison, Katie had been one of those little fluffy dogs with a bow in its hair. There had only been that slight moment of concern when Rodney had proudly shown John the engagement ring he’d intended to give Katie. Okay, maybe more than a slight concern. John had been stunned at the revelation, and if Rodney hadn’t been so nervous in anticipation of the proposal, he might have picked up on John’s less-than-enthusiastic support. Thankfully, Rodney and Katie being shut together in the lab while the city was in lockdown mode effectively ended both the proposal and the relationship.

But despite that little hiccup, John hadn’t been too worried about Rodney ‘finding the right girl’ and moving on because really, most people didn’t appreciate Rodney. They were attracted to him, yes. Who wouldn’t be? All that energy—the finger-snapping, the hand-waving, the intensity blazing out of his eyes when he was on to something—even better when you’d said the thing that made him see the light. Like the nice shoulders or the magnificent ass, these things were a fundamental part of McKay. You couldn’t have one without the other. It was the same with his intellectual processing—thoughts firing more rapidly than a P-90 could empty a magazine, and with almost as much kinetic energy behind it. It made Rodney who he was. It was an endless source of frustration to John that no sooner did someone begin to show interest in Rodney—and it was returned—that the process of Taming Rodney McKay began. Be nicer. Don’t openly show contempt for people not as smart as you. Eat better. Exercise more. Don’t work all the time.

Considering that Rodney’s genius and the fact his penchant for getting things done when no one else could was one of the main reasons the expedition was still largely intact and thriving as it entered its fifth year, John resented the hell out of the girlfriends who wanted to change Rodney. And while he sometimes felt guilty about bringing Rodney muffins or pudding when he was well aware his team needed to be fit to survive the dangers Pegasus threw at them, he also knew that when Rodney was stressed and running on fumes, a sweet treat could prevent a meltdown and help him focus on the task at hand. It was like giving Popeye a can of spinach.

Besides, it wasn’t like he was ever going to act on his attraction to Rodney McKay. John would never put himself in the position of getting so soundly—and loudly—rejected.

Judging from the amount of cursing emanating from under the console, snack time was still an hour or two off. John rested his freezing hands on the butt of his P-90 and admired the view.

***

When Ronon and Teyla returned wearing concerned looks, John felt little surprise. He’d suspected for some time now that the Tyrleans were deliberately dragging their heels on the repairs. Small things had tipped him off—Rodney asking for specific parts that were never in the same building and someone always had to be sent back to the village for replacements—or the way the people helping them frequently glanced out the only window, an odd sort of tension building as the sun slanted low over the tall fir trees. At first, it had been easy to lay the blame on ramshackle repairs and substandard tech. But by the time Ronon and Teyla came back from their village tour, John was convinced they were being delayed for a purpose. And yet he didn’t have a sense of malice behind the action. A strange mix of relief and fear permeated the room.

“Wrap it up, McKay.”

“I would have happily done so _hours_ ago, had I been provided with the right tools.” Rodney shot his assistant such a burning look of loathing and disapproval, it was a wonder that the native didn’t burst into flames on the spot. The hapless man started apologizing once more, but Ronon cut him off mid-excuse.

“We need to go. Now.” Ronon was always abrupt, but this time, the snap in his words made the hair on the back of John’s neck stand up.

“What’s up?”

Teyla exchanged an unreadable glance with Ronon before speaking. “It would appear Dr. McKay is not capable of completing his repairs this evening. I believe we should return to the city and allow him to rest. We can come back in the morning refreshed and with the proper tools.”

Rodney crawled out from under the console he’d been working on, scowling deeply. “Give me another half hour and we won’t have to come back at all.”

The look Teyla directed at him was pleasant enough, but an underlying warning grated in her tone as she spoke, as though her teeth were clenched. “Your enthusiasm is admirable, Dr. McKay, but we all know how often you push the boundaries of your health, working well beyond the time you should take a rest and meal break.”

Ronon’s snort belied his agreement with Teyla. “Yeah, we all know how you _never_ complain about working conditions. A real hero, you are. If we didn’t ride herd on you, you’d kill yourself with work.”

“I resent that. Just because I—” Rodney gaped at his team briefly before clamping his lips shut. “You have a point. Very well. We’ll come back in the morning.”

John narrowed his eyes. Whatever was bugging Ronon and Teyla, they believed the threat was serious. Time to head back to the ranch. He flicked a glance over to Rodney, who’d begun packing his tool kit. “Just leave the equipment, McKay. We’ll be back tomorrow.”

The natives who had been assisting with the repairs surreptitiously traded glances. One looked out the window at the setting sun before giving the other a slight nod.

“My apologies,” Rodney’s main assistant said. “We did not mean to abuse your generosity in helping us by overworking Dr. McKay. Please, let us adjourn to the mayor’s house for the evening meal. There is no need for you to leave hungry.”

“Appreciate the offer, but it’s getting late. If you want us back bright and early tomorrow, we should be going.” John deliberately drawled, giving his best charming-the-natives smile as he did so. He clapped Rodney on the shoulder, and left his hand there, as though someone might snatch his scientist and run. “Come on, McKay. Let’s go home. Grab the gloves,” he reminded, when Rodney would have left them on the console.

To John’s relief, the villagers made no attempt to stop them. With his hand still on Rodney’s shoulder, he guided Rodney out of the building and into cobblestoned street. Twilight painted the stones with a pink glow, even as the team’s breath formed vapor clouds in front of them. More disturbingly, unsmiling villagers hurried past them with scarcely a glance in their direction. From a nearby alley, the sound of someone hammering nails into wood rang out. When John looked, he saw a frazzled looking man boarding up a window. Someone further down the same alley wound chains through holes built into a door and bound them together with a massive lock. Frowning, John glanced through the window of a house in passing, and saw several children gathered around a fire reading books. It should have been a peaceful scene, but the intensity with which they flipped the pages and studied the images sent a chill up John’s spine that had nothing to do with how cold it was.

“Step up the pace, guys. Let’s get back to the Gate.” John tugged Rodney along behind him as they picked up a slow trot. “Mind telling me what’s going on around here?”

Teyla looked back over her shoulder, worry creasing her normally serene expression. “Different planets have different traditions, but on this world, it is the twelfth night of the twelfth month.”

“So?” Rodney huffed a little as he strove to keep up. John let go of him and dropped in behind him, the better to prod his ass with a P-90 if needed, or otherwise cover it from attack.

Ronon had no trouble jogging and speaking but his words came out as a growl. “It’s the night the School Master comes.”

John didn’t like the sound of that. Rodney on the other hand, came to a halt.

“Is that all?” He put his fists on his hips for good measure. “We’re running from _education_? I hate to tell you guys, but I’ll ace any test Pegasus can throw at me. Bring it on.” He made a little beckoning motion with his gloved hand.

“Move it, McKay.” John gave him a little shove. “I doubt Ronon and Teyla are just trying to cut math class here.”

Teyla’s voice contained an uncharacteristically sharp edge. “We can explain in more detail once we are back in the city. Hurry.”

Ronon had his gun out, his eyes scanning the streets around them. “School Master’s just a name, McKay. He goes by different names on different planets. He’s…” Ronon paused as he searched for the right word. “He’s a _whale_.”

It shouldn’t have been possible for a pasty-white man who perfected his own sunscreen to get any paler than he already was, but the blood left Rodney’s face at Ronon’s proclamation. The whole team knew about Rodney’s childhood fear of whales. It was something Ronon never let Rodney forget. But there’d been no hint of teasing in Ronon’s voice when he spoke.

“What are we waiting for, then? Let’s go. Let’s go!” Rodney motioned in the general direction of the Gate, and they took off at a good clip for the edge of town.

The first roadblock they ran into was a group of women standing in the middle of the street, blocking the path with wide baskets filled with their daily shopping. It struck John as an odd time for a gathering of shoppers—he’d have thought most people would have already been home fixing dinner. They attempted to go around, only to be met with titters and smiles, and there was a moment of dosey-doeing when the women kept stepping into their path instead of moving aside, only to apologize profusely and get in the way again. The smiles were tight with a hint of desperation, however. Uneasiness licked along John’s spine as he looked for a way out of the situation without hurting anyone. Ronon looked as though he might explode when yet another woman dropped her basket and sent fruit rolling in all directions, but in the end Teyla cleared a path. With a loud, “Excuse us, please let us pass” the sea of women parted and the team charged through the break in the group.

The second obstruction was a physical barrier erected across the road. Several workman leaned against a large cart. The road itself had been hacked up, and large iron pipes blocked the way. The workmen fingered their tools as though they were eager to be challenged, but John checked Ronon when he would have picked a fight. “Find another way. Let’s go.”

They ducked down a side street and pelted for the far end of town. A couple of people stepped out of a bar as they jogged past, looking around in their direction. No one followed them as they cleared the last of the houses, however. The sun dipped behind the ridge, and darkness fell quickly once they were beyond the town limits. There were no further disruptions.

“Stay sharp,” John warned. “They have to know we’re headed for the Gate.”

“Yeah, but they don’t seem to want to hurt us. What gives?”

For once, John had to agree with Rodney’s assessment, even if there was a touch of a whine in his voice.

“We’ll figure it out later. Keep moving.”

In the dark, the forest outside the village felt ominous, as though it were a wild animal stalking them as they picked their way along the path. Black trees stripped bare of leaves clawed the sky as the wind teased their branches, and John had the eerie sensation the trees wanted to pluck at their sleeves and hold them back as they trekked to the Gate.

John almost imagined eyes upon them, and was relieved when they broke through the trees in front of the Gate.

Their rush proved fruitless, however. Like a gaping wound in the body of a sacrificial victim, wires dangled from the operating device where the DHD had been removed. Ronon muttered something that sounded a lot like _holy motherforking shirtballs_ , which made John wonder what television shows Ronon had been watching with the geeks lately, but he caught the gist of the sentiment.

They were screwed.

“Looks like we’re staying here tonight.” John nodded to Ronon. “Let’s pick a site out of the wind and set up camp.”

“No.” Rodney crossed his arms over his chest, his face as obstinate as a mule. “If they want us here on the planet, the least they can do is provide us with a hot meal and a warm bed. I refuse to rough it on tree limbs and barley water when the village is right over there.” He indicated the faint lights of the cottages visible in the distance through the woods.

“We shouldn’t walk into their trap.” Ronon looked prepared to bed down with nothing more than his leather greatcoat, but John saw Rodney’s point.

“I hear you, Big Guy, but McKay may be right. We didn’t come prepared to stay and it’s pretty cold out here. Besides, I think Rodney’s also right about the villagers not wanting to hurt us. Yes, they want us to stay for some reason, but I don’t know as we’ll be any safer sleeping out in the open than back in town.” He didn’t think it would be smart to add, “besides, it’s creepy out here.” It would undermine his argument. Clearly, Ronon didn’t like John’s reasoning, but he grunted and reholstered his gun.

John turned to Teyla as they walked back to town. “So what’s this about a School Master?”

“Many worlds have a legend of a mysterious being that comes to the village on the twelfth night of the twelfth month every fourth cycle.” Teyla pulled her coat closer around her throat, and John sensed it wasn’t merely because the sun had set or that the wind whipped tendrils of hair around her face. “He takes two children from the village, despite every attempt to keep him out. Surely you noted the villagers boarding up their windows?”

“I saw that.” Rodney attempted to snap his fingers but his gloves merely made a whispering sound. “They looked as though they were prepping for a hurricane.”

Teyla nodded. “They were attempting to protect their children. As I said, every four years, two members of the village are abducted. One is the most beautiful, the sweetest, most kind-hearted child, and the other is the ugliest, cruelest, most selfish being imaginable.”

That struck John as odd, even for Pegasus. “Where are they taken?”

Ronon answered this time, anger simmering in his voice. “Some think they are taken by the Wraith to become Runners.”

“Kids?” The pitch and volume of Rodney’s indignant incredulity made John wince, even if he agreed with the outrage. “I’m not a fan of children myself but seriously, they’re taking kids to turn them into Runners? It’s bad enough the Wraith make sport of hunting humans as it is, but to hunt children is _monstrous_.”

John hefted the P-90 in his grip. “Why don’t we go ask them where the kids go?”

By the time they returned to the village, the streets were empty.

“Where is everyone?” Rodney looked around, shivering slightly in his parka. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

John did too, but one of the downsides of being in charge was sometimes you had to pretend you had everything under control.

The windows at the mayor’s house were covered over with heavy wooden boards. When John hammered on the door, he thought he could detect movement within, but then everything went silent.

“Funny.” John’s sarcastic drawl indicated it was anything but. “I think my feelings are hurt. I thought we were invited to dinner.”

“That was before we tried to leave,” Rodney pointed out. He peered up and down the street as though a Wraith might pop out of the shadows at any moment, and shivered. “I don’t know about you, but I think the sooner we get indoors, the better.”

John couldn’t argue with that.

As they approached the next house on the street, the lights shining through the slatted boards abruptly went out. Ronon went ahead of them, pounding with his fist on doors like an ogre from some fairy tale, but no one responded to his summons. John couldn’t say as he blamed them, given the fury of Ronon’s knocking.

Rodney’s whine cut to the heart of the matter. “What are we going to do? I’m starving and I’m freezing my ass off here.”

“Let’s go to that bar we saw earlier.” John blew on his hands to warm them up and wished Rodney would give him his gloves back. “They can’t pretend they aren’t open.”

The barman was in the process of lowering a heavy wooden beam across the door when they reached the pub. Ronon caught it with one hand before it hit the iron brackets, and lifted it back up as the barman protested. “We’re closed!”

“We need some food and a place to stay for the night.” John waltzed past Ronon into the bar wearing the smile of a man seldom denied anything. Rodney shot the barman a little smirk contained within a grimace. If he’d been a dog, John thought Rodney might lift his leg on the nearest rough-hewn barstool, an image that amused him greatly.

“We had every intention of leaving, but when we reached the Ring of the Ancestors, it had been disabled.” Teyla stared at the barman calmly until his shoulders sagged.

“Food I can do, if you can pay for it. But we’re all full up. You’ll have to stay somewhere else tonight.” The man pushed a greasy strand of hair off his forehead and held out his hand for payment.

John nodded to Teyla, and she pulled out the bag of credit chips they’d received from the mayor earlier that day. The barman’s eyes widened as she counted out more than enough for a meal. She then tugged the drawstring closed and hefted the bag so it jingled.

John caught the barman’s eye and indicated the lack of customers in the room. “There’s more where that came from if you put us up for the night. Looks like the place is empty to me.”

The barman sighed and wiped his hands on a dirty rag at his waistband. “Look, this is a bar, not an inn. I’ve only got the one room, and it only has the one bed. You’re not all going to fit in there.”

Rodney would probably never let them hear the end of it, but John wasn’t about to let that stop him from securing a room for the night. “You let us worry about that. We’ll take the room. We appreciate your hospitality. And we’ll take whatever food you’re serving.”

“You.” The barman pointed at Ronon, who still held the beam for the door. “Shut that and lock it tight.” He stomped off with a sour expression as Ronon dropped the beam into the iron holders and joined the rest of the team at the largest table.

“Do you think they have tormack?” Rodney rubbed his stomach with a pained expression. “I hope, at the very least, the food’s still hot.”

Everyone just gave him The Look.

“What?” Rodney complained. “You know it’s always hit or miss as to whether the village food is edible or not in these places. No offense, Teyla.”

Teyla sat down beside him, clearly smothering a look of irritation. “Why do you always tell me you do not mean to offend, when clearly your words are offensive?”

“Hey, wait a minute. That’s hardly fair—”

“No, what is not fair is your assessment of life in Pegasus—and that somehow, I represent someone from every village and holding outside of Atlantis.” Her eyes snapped with uncharacteristic anger. “How is it that you never beg for Ronon’s forgiveness?”

Ronon had taken a seat on the other side of John, sitting mostly in shadow but having the advantage of being able to watch the room at large. He smiled the toothy grin of a lion who had a zebra pinned in his sights. “He knows I wouldn’t give it.”

“You gotta admit, McKay, it’s kind of insulting.” John swung a leg over the stool and took a seat across from Rodney.

“Okay, look. I’m sorry if I sounded disparaging. It’s been a long, frustrating day with too little to eat, especially after stomping around in the cold.” Rodney tugged John’s gloves off and placed them on the table. “I’m tired and I want to go to bed—my _nice_ bed with the orthopedic mattress—not sleep piled up like a litter of puppies on a straw mat in the attic somewhere. I want hot food I can recognize, too. And frankly, the odds of any of that, as you well know, are slim to none here.”

“I’m not really hearing an apology here.” John struggled to keep the smile out of his voice. He held his hands over the candle burning in the glass holder on the table, grateful for the slight warmth emanating from the light source.

“Oh, come on.” Rodney huffed. “You know what I mean.”

“I do, Rodney.” Teyla sounded her usual soothing self again. “Forgive me. It has been a trying day for the rest of us as well.”

“This twelfth night thing’s got you worried,” John guessed.

She nodded. “The villagers certainly seem to take it seriously.”

“That’s because they don’t understand.”

The small voice piped up seemingly from nowhere, and Rodney yelped. Ronon had his gun out before John could grip the P-90, but John laid his hand on Ronon’s arm before he brought the weapon to bear on the angelic-looking child who stood at the base of the stairs.

Light from the overhead torches shimmered off golden hair that waved down to her waist. She wore a delicate nightgown of lilac, embroidered with tiny white flowers, and, judging by the clear shoes that showcased the girl’s tiny feet down to the pink nail polish on her toes, was wearing glass slippers. She clutched a large volume of fairy tales to her chest.

“Hello.” Teyla offered a welcoming smile. “We are guests in your village. Do you live here?”

The child tilted her chin in a manner that reminded John of Rodney at his officious worst, and condescension dripped from her dulcet voice. “Not for long. I’m Bella. The barkeep is my father.”

A small frown furrowed Teyla’s forehead. “I see. And where is your mother?”

The angelic presence shrugged. “Dead. But getting back to your first question. I’m won’t be living here much longer because tonight the School Master is coming for _me_.” She leaned forward with a beaming smile, her eyes glowing with excited anticipation. “This is the first time I’m old enough. The School Master doesn’t take anyone under twelve.”

Her delighted pronouncement startled a response out of Rodney. “You? And you’re happy about this?”

Bella looked at him as though he were a bug to be squashed under her delicate glass slipper. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be? When the School Master takes me, I’m going to become a princess. Obviously, I’m the most beautiful girl in town, even if those other families hadn’t stupidly tried to disguise their children’s looks by cutting their hair and dirtying their faces. And I’m _good_. I donate all the toys and clothes I don’t want any more to the orphanage. Last week I held a class for the ladies of the village on how to decorate their smocks with handmade embroidered roses. And I make beetroot soup and parsnip pie every day for my father’s dinner.”

“Wow. Some real sacrifices there on your part.” Rodney’s deadpan delivery had Bella frowning at him as she attempted to parse his meaning. “Does he _like_ parsnip pie?”

She gave a little flip of her head, causing her hair to ripple in a glorious waterfall. “What does that matter? It’s good for him. It won’t make him fat.”

She gave Rodney the once-over with a decided sniff and John tightened his grip on his gun. Rodney wasn’t fat. Maybe a little soft around the middle. Okay, so maybe John indulged Rodney’s sweet tooth a bit too often, but parsnip pie? It sounded disgusting. No wonder the bar owner looked dyspeptic.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” John asked, hoping to get rid of her.

“I just came downstairs to get some cucumbers. I need them to make a facial mask each morning and it occurred to me that they might not have enough cucumbers where I’m going, if any at all.” She turned to John in the middle of her speech, and her eyes narrowed as she seemed to take him in for the first time. “My, you’re a beautiful man.”

“Um, thanks?” If felt weird to be complimented by such a young girl, especially since _handsome_ would have been a more natural choice of words, and the tips of John’s ears grew hot and pink.

The tapping of Bella’s glass slipper on the wooden floor made a sort of musical chime. “I don’t suppose you’d consider shaving your head bald and rubbing charcoal all over your face—just for tonight?”

“No can do,” John said, as Rodney turned a sputtering laugh into a cough. Even Teyla had to hide a smile behind her hand.

“It probably doesn’t matter.” Bella spoke almost as if to herself. “I can’t picture the School Master taking anyone so _old_.”

“Hey!” John protested. He half-heartedly punched Rodney in the shoulder when Rodney pushed at him, laughing. “No one’s getting taken by anyone, if I have anything to say about it.”

“You can’t stop the School Master.” Disdain cut through Bella’s childish treble, making her sound far older than her given years. “No one can.”

“Maybe that’s why the villagers wouldn’t let us go through the Gate.” Ronon’s sense of humor seemed to have returned. “They were hoping the School Master would take you, Sheppard.”

“More like they disabled the Gate to prevent this School Master, whoever he is, from showing up in the first place.” John shot Rodney a dirty look as he continued to snigger.

Bella, finally taking notice of Ronon when he spoke, gaped at him. “You! I know you.”

“You do?” Rodney managed to sound both disbelieving and superior at the same time.

Bella paid him no heed. She slammed the fairy tale book down on the table in front of them, and began rapidly flipping through the pages. “There!” She pointed triumphantly to one gilt-edged page. It was a drawing of a heavily muscled man with a lion’s mane of dreadlocks. In one hand he held a Wraith’s head that had been chopped off, gore dripping from the ragged edges of the neck. In the other he held a scimitar, the blade of which was bloody. In the distance, a puddlejumper sat parked on a hill, and several small figures stood beside it. Though the depictions of the people beside the jumper were tiny, their clothing matched the Atlantis field ops uniforms. Beneath the grisly drawing, ornate calligraphy spelled out the words: RONON OF SATEDA.

“You’re a _hero_ ,” Bella breathed, her eyes wide with awe.

“Hello.” Rodney tried to spin the book away from her. “Let’s see if I’m in there.”

Bella hissed like a cat and slapped Rodney’s hand away from the book. “It’s mine,” she snarled. “What would you be doing in there anyway? You’re no hero.”

“Yeah? Well, you’re no princess.” Rodney folded his arms over his chest and gave her his best _subduing the minions_ look.

“McKay.”

“What? She isn’t.”

Bella went to stomp her foot, but appeared to think better of it when she glanced down at the glass slipper. She lifted her chin instead. Disdain dripped from her voice like drops of acid rain. “I am _too_ a princess.” Without warning, she shot John a vicious look. “But he isn’t.”

“Depends on who you ask.” Ronon spoke out of the corner of his mouth to no one in particular.

“I think the more pressing issue here is how did Ronon come to be in this book?” John gave his team a quelling glance (well, everyone except Teyla) and gestured toward the book. “May we?”

Bella glared at him but relented with a sniff. “Just don’t get it dirty.”

With that stricture in mind, John pulled the book closer to him. Rodney leaned in across the table for a better look, as did Teyla. Ronon seemed disinterested, but John could tell by the tightness around his eyes his lack of attention was an act.

“That certainly looks like a crude rendering of Ronon,” Rodney volunteered after studying the page.

“You think?” John tapped the words beneath the drawing. “This wasn’t a dead giveaway, Dr. Obvious?”

“Well, how’s this one for you, Colonel Oblivious? We can read the language. So can this little girl here. That shouldn’t be possible.” Rodney lifted an eyebrow and addressed the others. “What about you, Ronon? Teyla? Can you read the words here?”

Teyla nodded, tilting her head to take in the writing. “Yes. It is written in the Athosian language.”

A muscle ticked in Ronon’s jaw before he answered, “Satedan.”

“Huh.” John closed the book. The leather binding was embossed with dragons, fair maidens, wicked witches, an apple tree and a rose bush, while a knight on a charger brandishing a sword rode up in the background. The cover was butter-smooth and warm to the touch, no doubt from being held by Bella. Gold lettering jumped off the cover at him, each word dressed in fancy curlicues that proclaimed The School of Good and Evil. Two swans—one white, one black—hovered beneath the title.

He opened the book to the first page and began thumbing through the volume, but the images within raised more questions than answers. There was no forward, no explanation, just a series of drawings depicting eerily familiar scenes. A golden-haired beauty sleeping in a glass coffin. A pair of children wearing lederhosen fleeing from a house made of gingerbread. A young girl in a red cloak facing down a wolf dressed as an old woman.

He didn’t recognize all the stories, however. The further he delved into the book, the less it made sense to him. He hesitated at an excellent rendition of an Iratus bug coming down its web to munch on a victim helplessly cocooned there, his hand frozen over the page, unable to go to the next one.

Rodney pulled the book out from under him. “Look at this.” Excitement trembled in his voice. “Gate markings on the edges of the pages. I think these drawings might correspond to different planets.” Hurriedly, he flipped to Ronon’s page again. “Yes, I was right. This is the Gate sequence for Sateda.”

Ronon pulled the book over to his side of the table and peered at the tiny markings with a frown. “McKay’s right.”

Teyla took hold of the book and carefully turned the next page. “I recognize this story. It is the legend of Tir and Cheron. Asthosians have been telling this story for hundreds of years. And I believe the symbols correspond with Athos as well.”

Rodney snatched the book away and turned back a few pages before pushing the tome back at John. “What do you see here?”

John frowned at the drawing. One of those phallic-looking towers the Ancients like to decorate their cities with rose out of an overgrown forest. A man dressed in the white and gold tunic favored by the Ancients clutched what looked like a ZPM to his chest. John looked up sharply to see Rodney staring at him with the wide-eyed excitement that Rodney only showed for really cool tech. He hated to be the one to dash cold water on Rodney’s quivering enthusiasm, but it had to be done. “Hold up a sec. Ronon, have you ever cut off a Wraith’s head like this?”

Ronon shook his head. “Gutted ‘em. Sliced their throats. Shot ‘em. Hung ‘em. Impaled in pit traps. Snared by a leg—”

Rodney huffed impatiently. “We get it. We get it. You’re incredibly lethal when it comes to the Wraith. But what about this picture here. Like this, ever?”

Ronon bared his teeth. “Not just when it comes to the Wraith, McKay.” He waited a second for his statement to sink in. When Rodney clamped his lips shut, Ronon continued. “But not exactly like this. Not with a blade like that. No.”

“And you’ve never met this School Master?” John asked.

Ronon shook his head.

“But he’s in the book,” Rodney persisted. “His name and everything. That means some of the rest of it has to be true as well, right?”

“The bigger question is how did Ronon come to be in the book in the first place?” John turned his attention back to Bella, and was startled to see she held a pair of scissors in her hand that she quickly shoved behind her. “Er, ah, Bella. Where did you get this book?”

She appeared to weigh her options before speaking, then gave a little shrug. “A new book appears at the bookseller’s on every four years during the harvest. It takes him a few months to make copies but every house in the village buys one. We need to know what happened since the last book came out. The bookseller doesn’t know where they come from. They just appear overnight.”

“Bella!”

All heads turned as the barman stood with his mouth open staring at his daughter as he held a heavy tray of food. “What are you doing out of bed?”

He set tray down on the nearest table and rushed over to her, even as she snatched up her book and rolled her eyes at him. He grabbed her by the arms and gave her a little shake. “You shouldn’t be out and about. I locked you in your room for your _safety_.”

“It won’t matter, Papa. You know the School Master takes whomever he wants.” She shot a narrow-eyed glare at John while she fingered the scissor’s blades. With a toss of her head, she dismissed the team. “However, it will not do to have me looking less than my best when the School Master arrives, so I will go to bed now.” She pecked her father on the cheek and drifted up the stairs, giving the room a little wave as though she were riding on a float in a parade.

Her father retrieved the tray and banged it down on the table in front of the team. Stew slopped out of wooden bowls with his actions, but steam rose off the food and the crusty loaf of bread smelled divine. Rodney wasted no time tearing off a piece and shoving it in his mouth before collecting a tankard of ale and taking a cautious sniff.

“You have a very lovely daughter.”

John thought Teyla was being generous with her praise.

The barman’s eyes watered, and he dabbed at them with his dirty rag. “She’s all I have left of her mother. She’s determined to go off with the School Master, but not on my watch. Every family who has a child that might be taken is standing guard tonight, and we’ve bolted down the town.” He fished a heavy iron key out of his pocket and clapped it down on the table. “I’ll leave you to your meal. You should lock your door tonight as well.”

“Gladly. And thanks again for the hospitality.” John pocketed the key. He watched as the barman checked the front door’s security again, blew his nose into his rag, and then headed back to the kitchen.

Rodney’s words were indistinct as he chewed. “Shouldn’t we have asked him why they were so bent on keeping us here in town?”

John tasted his stew. It was pretty good, so he grabbed a hunk of bread for dipping before Rodney ate it all. Bread wasn’t something Rodney was good about sharing. “I thought about it, but I don’t think he would have told us the real reason, anyway. Maybe they didn’t want to be caught in the act of disabling the Gate because they knew we’d have tried to stop them.”

“Or perhaps, someone else recognized Ronon from the book. Bella said every home in the village purchased a copy as soon as it came out. Perhaps they had questions for Ronon.” As always, Teyla sounded thoughtful but something in her voice made John’s spidey senses tingle.

“That I can’t answer.” Ronon’s scowl grew even fiercer, if that was possible.

“Good thing the barman gave us a key.” Rodney finished the last of his stew and looked hopefully around for more. John pulled his bowl into the crook of his arm and guarded it like a dog chained to a post as he continued to eat.

“You worried the School Master will come take you in the night, McKay?” Ronon tore off a large chunk of bread and dipped it into his stew before shoving the dripping mess into his mouth.

“Sounds like he only takes kids.” Rodney shrugged and then fixed an impish grin on John. “I’m more worried that little hellion will chop off the Colonel’s hair in the middle of the night. Though I guess that would be okay. It’s not regulation length anyway.”

“Funny man,” John drawled. “Eat up. We’ll try to get a good night’s sleep and then go see the bookseller in the morning. Maybe he knows more about the origin of this book than he’s saying.”

“It does seem quite strange that Ronon is in the book.” A quiet undertone of concern ran through Teyla’s comment.

“Maybe someone heard he was a Runner.” Rodney used his bread to wipe his bowl of the last remnants of stew, popped it into his mouth, and licked his fingers.

John studiously looked away. Rodney licking his fingers brought to mind Rodney’s talented (if somewhat exasperating) tongue, and that wasn’t exactly what John should be thinking about before they all climbed into bed together. He hadn’t finished his food, and it was probably cooling rapidly. Taking another bite, he said, “Still far too specific. Down to his name and planet of origin? Who keeps that kind of information? And why?”

“We will find out in the morning.” Teyla gave him a reassuring smile, but John felt her uneasiness as clearly as his own.

Full of warm food after a day spent in the freezing cold, it should have been a simple matter for the team to fall asleep once they retired to their room. But as usual, they ran into problems. John, given his military experience, was accustomed to bunking down when and where he could, and could usually fall asleep in a matter of minutes. Teyla and Ronon were both used to the kind of existence that went to bed with sundown and rose at dawn—Teyla because of the pre-industrialized society of the Athosians, and Ronon because of his years as a Runner. Rodney, on the other hand, was used to staying up until all hours, reading or working on projects. Light from his tablet could be distracting to the rest of the team at times, but worse was when he hummed or tapped his fingers while reading. John had to lay down the law and insist Rodney shut down his tablet, which led to some Prime Time Rodney grousing. The outrage seemed half-hearted to John, and when Rodney kept yawning wide enough to crack his jaw, John called for an early night.

But Rodney up and puttering about wasn’t as bad as trying to sleep next to him in a group situation. Rodney preferred to sleep on the outer edge of the bed, unwilling to have anyone touching him as they attempted to sleep. He always perched on the very far end of the mattress, arms folded in tight like a mummy, rigid with tension in the event someone might brush up against him. John usually had to take the inside next to Rodney, because heaven forbid Rodney sleep next to Teyla and he was scared of bumping into Ronon in his sleep. The weird thing is that once Rodney himself fell asleep, he turned into a sprawler. He’d leach over into the nearest person’s space, which was probably why he refused to sleep next to both Teyla and Ronon. John didn’t mind sleeping between Rodney or Teyla because he frequently got cold sleeping off-world, and that way he stayed warm on both sides.

Despite his lack of hospitality, the barman must have relented and lit a fire for them, for one burned cheerfully in the small hearth when they entered their room for the night. It was patently a spare room as the barman had said, however, a small space beneath the eaves, the roof slanted at such an angle Ronon couldn’t stand up straight. Ronon took one look at the microscopic bed and took matters into his own hands. The bed was so small, it could have doubled for a bed in Atlantis. There was no way the four of them could share. Ronon dragged the top cover off and snagged one of the pillows to bed down in front of the fireplace, where flames danced behind the grate. Truthfully, it was his preferred sleeping location anyway, so no one argued with him.

Rodney dithered about whether to take the side closest to the door (for the purposes of going to the outhouse) or the window until John pointed out that with the Boogey Man due to show up after midnight, no external jaunts to relieve one’s self was advisable. That left Teyla to guard the side of the bed closest to the door, a decision that seemed only right to everyone on the team, though no one actually said that aloud.

Rodney arranged himself in his usual mummy pose as John and Teyla got into bed. Teyla doused the lamp on the bedside table beside her, and the only light came from the crackling fire, the flickering flames sending shadows dancing along the stone hearth and across Ronon’s covered form. John felt his eyelids droop and his muscles start to relax. Only the tension emanating off Rodney beside him kept him awake.

“Did you lock the door?” Rodney whispered at last.

John took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Shut up, McKay. We’re fine. The School Master isn’t coming for you.”

“I wasn’t thinking about the School Master.” A certain slyness glittered maliciously in Rodney’s voice. “I was thinking about a certain young princess and her very sharp pair of scissors.”

“The door is locked, McKay.” John ground out the words.

Rodney waited approximately forty-five seconds—just long enough for John to start to doze off again—before saying, “Are you _sure_?”

_Don’t give in. Don’t give in. Don’t let the bastard know I’m rattled._

John gave in approximately one minute after Rodney’s evil question. With a suppressed snarl, he heaved himself out of bed, crawling over Rodney to do so, and checked the door. “See? Locked. Satisfied?”

Rodney grunted as John crawled back over him. Finally, after much huffing and turning and fluffing of pillows, and complaining of the straw packing poking him through the coarse bedding and the fact John’s feet were _freezing_ , Rodney was persuaded to go to sleep. It probably had nothing to do with John rolling over to place his lips very close to Rodney’s ear and whispering, “If you don’t stop moving _right_ _now_ , I will kill you.”

Whatever the reason, Rodney shut up and laid still. The light in the room slowly dwindled as the fire burned low in the hearth. The heat from the fire and the warmth of the bodies next to him seeped into John’s bones, lulling him into sleep. It had been a long day. A cold day. His fingers and toes were only just now thawing out, or so it seemed. One of the logs crackled softly as a chunk of wood popped off, and the embers glowed hotly. John’s eyes drifted shut. A smile creased his lips as Rodney’s faint buzzing snore reached his ears. Between Ronon and Teyla, he could, just this once, let his guard down a bit and enjoy the closeness of physical contact. It was rare that he could indulge in the luxury. A clap on the shoulder as part of a mission gone well, that’s the most he offered or received on a good day. Even when things went pear-shaped, it was rare for him to have more contact than that.

So he kind of relished these moments where he was forced to do the group sleep thing. It wasn’t sexual by any means, though there were times when Rodney did his octopus trick when John could have wished the rest of his team would temporarily disappear. It was just… nice. Nice to have someone lie next to you that you trusted. That you liked. Hell, that you loved.

It was knowing you were home no matter where in the universe you were.

He’d been sound asleep when the room filled with light and the clashing sound of tech operating close at hand. Deeply asleep, the way you burrow in during the first hour or two of closing your eyes. One minute he was dead to the world, and the next he’d been jolted awake by the distinctive clanging of Goa’uld rings dropping into the middle of the small room, the center of which blazed with light. John bolted upright, only to realize Rodney wasn’t beside him.

“John!” Rodney reached for him from the center of the ring assembly, held in the grip of a cloaked, tall figure that looked a lot like the Grim Reaper.

“Ronon! Teyla!” John swung out of the bed, barefoot, still wearing his BDUs and T-shirt. Ronon was on his feet and had his gun aimed at the ring, but he didn’t have a clear shot. Teyla was on the move as well, but before she could even round the end of the bed to reach the rings, the figures inside vanished. The brilliant light still shone down from above, however. John bounced up on the bed and leapt to the top of the assembly, dropping down inside just as it started its activation noise again.

“I’ll find McKay. Find out where they’ve taken us and—”

The rings activated, and John was no longer in the attic room.

****

It was only by the sheerest luck John didn’t wind up splatted on the windshield of some Goa’uld ship. Once the intruder had grabbed Rodney (how had he manipulated Rodney into the rings without the rest of them waking? Ronon, at the very least, had the hearing of a hungry Doberman) and activated the transfer, the ring assembly didn’t shut down. John caught the last of the energy beam in the open portal and rode it to its conclusion. Had the transfer been unsuccessful, he’d have never known. He’d fully expected to wind up either dead or defenseless in the hold of some alien ship, but instead, the rings deposited him—rather forcefully in his mind—on the hard stone floor of what appeared to be the main hall of a massive castle.

Rubbing his hip where he’d contacted the floor, John winced to his feet and looked around. Large torches flared in sconces along the borders of the room. Overhead, an enormous chandelier sparkled with the twinkling light of a thousand tiny flames reflecting off crystals. A red carpet ran through the room and up an impressive stairway, the kind that could host an entire Broadway musical on its treads. The words EVER AFTER were ornately carved in stone above the staircase, reminding John of the font on the front of Bella’s fairy tale book. The room bore an uncanny resemblance to the Gate room, except decorated by someone who’d eaten psychedelic mushrooms.

But what struck him the most was the noise.

The room was filled with dozens of boys and girls, ranging in age from twelve to early twenties. Lean, stripling males with the physique of Greek athletes, and beautiful girls sporting pink dresses, their long hair of all shades curled into becoming ringlets. And they were all talking. Excitedly.

The chatter was like being in an aviary filled with magpies.

Someone gasped, and for a brief moment, the sound in the room ceased as everyone turned to gape at John. Their expressions varied from narrowed-eyed concern to a frank admiration, which was both creepy and freaky. And then the conversation exploded again.

John winced once more and dug a finger in one ear in an attempt to quell the ringing. Raising his voice, he asked. “Hey. Who’s in charge?”

Five young men sprang around him in a circle, each holding some variation of a short sword or long knife. The tallest of the lads challenged him. “How did you get in here?”

John pushed the edge of the blade pointed at him aside with his fingertip. “Through the rings. You?”

The boy was probably the age of John’s youngest Marine, but instead of wearing his hair shorn short, his curls fell in golden disarray about his head and shoulders. His face had the as-yet-unformed handsomeness of youth, but his piercing blue eyes and the slight cleft to his chin held the promise of a future heartbreaker. It was his costume that made John frown. A white swan was centered on a blue tunic rimmed with gold that topped snow-white breeches and tall boots. He looked like Disney’s idea of a prince.

John noticed all the kids in the room had swans wore swans on their clothing. Like a school mascot or something.

“The School Master brought us, who else?” The boy snapped out his words, and his compatriots muttered under their breaths, but they all held their positions—and their weapons—as before.

Around the room, the young men closest to John glared at him, but really, once you’ve been on the receiving end of a McKay glare, anything else is laughable. The boys further away fidgeted slightly, anxious expressions pulling at their faces. It was the girls’ expressions that gave John pause, however. If they weren’t staring with outright adoration, there was a look of hunger on their faces that was highly disturbing.

“Perfect,” John drawled. “I need to see the School Master. Where can I find him?”

“He’s a Never!” Someone shouted from the back. “Kill him!”

With an angry murmur, the crowd of teenagers surged forward.

“Hold on now.” John raised his hands. “What’s this Never business?”

The boy voted most likely to be called Prince Charming curled his lip and indicated the stone letters over the staircase. “This is the School of Good. Happily Ever After, get it? But you’re a Never, as in Nevermore. You’re dressed all in black. You’re older than the rest of us. You have supervillain stamped all over you.”

“You’re dripping with sex appeal.” The girl who spoke simpered at John and twirled one of her light-brown curls around her finger.

The boys shot her vicious glares.

“What? I can’t help it. He is.” A tiny frown marred her forehead. “Wait a minute. I thought Nevers were supposed to be ugly. He’s breathtaking. And you have to admit, black looks good on him.”

“He doesn’t belong here. Anyone can clearly see that.” Prince Charming lifted his blade again, leaning in toward John.

“Then how come he has a white swan on his shirt?” The brown-haired Cinderella smirked.

Everyone looked down at John’s chest.

“Hey,” he said, rubbing the emblem. “How’d that get here?”

The swan appeared to be part of the fabric, which was impossible, since he was wearing one of his uniform T-shirts.

“I still say he should have to prove he’s an Ever,” one of the boys insisted. “Defeat us all in battle or something.”

“Love to oblige,” John let the lazy drawl fill his voice, and noted how the boy’s face reddened. “But I really need to see the School Master.”

“No one sees the School Master unless you get called to the Master’s office.” As if on a cue, when Prince Charming lowered his sword, the rest of the boys did as well. “And you _don’t_ want to get called to the Master’s office.”

Like the kids on the Peter Pan planet, whether they knew it or not, the youths seemed want a leader. All except Prince Charming, who no doubt currently held that role. John shrugged casually. “We’ll see about that.”

A gnome appeared at the top of the stairs and blew a trumpet-like horn longer than he was tall. The chatter in the hall subdued, but didn’t entirely die out. The trumpet bleated like a dying sheep, and the gnome proclaimed loudly, “Boys to the left. Girls to the right. Line up for your class assignments!”

A wave of tiny flying things poured out of the upper level, swarming down the staircase and mobbing the students. John’s initial instinct was to swat, especially as they recalled to mind that SG-1 report he’d read about insects that decimated planet populations. He raised his hand to smack the first creature that flew past him, only to stop when he realized the ridiculous gnats had _faces_. They were fairies, for Chrissake.

Ten fairies attached themselves to him, tugging at his sleeves and the bottom of his T-shirt, urging him to move in shrill voices. When he didn’t budge, one of them placed two fingers in its mouth and emitted a high-pitched whistle, and at least thirty more fairies zoomed over to join in the attack.

“Doesn’t belong here,” a tiny voice piped near his ear.

“Wouldn’t be too sure about that,” another fairy cried. “Look at the swan!”

“Forget the swan,” a third fairy trilled. “He’s _gorgeous_.”

“Would make a right proper villain, then.” The first fairy huffed. “You’d be fooled into doing whatever he asked.”

“He could ask me anything,” one of the fairies sighed. This observation seemed to trigger a battle between the various fairies, either because they were jealous or because they agreed with the first fairy. Tiny fists fights broke out around him, with fairies plummeting to the floor, screeching and pulling hair all the way down.

“Leave off.” John waved his hands, doing his best to avoid hitting or stepping on any of the fairies. “I need to see the School Master.”

The fairies stopped fighting and burst into raucous laughter, but before John could demand to be taken to the Master’s office, the crowds of students parted to make way for a large gray wolf that trotted straight up to John.

“Bit old for the freshman class, aren’t you?” The wolf bared all his teeth in a not-very-nice smile.

John was only taken aback by a talking wolf for an instant. This _was_ Pegasus, after all. “There’s been some kind of mistake.”

“That’s what they all say. Forget about your old life. You aren’t going back. Now get in line with the others.” The wolf snapped his teeth together sharply, narrowing missing taking a chunk out of John’s leg.

John managed not to flinch, but decided cooperation was the wisest course of action for the moment. In due course the fairies separated the students into two columns—the boys on one side and the girls on the other. Once everyone had lined up, a woman appeared at the top of the stairs. She was dressed in white chiffon, with a glittering layer of crystal beading over her tight bodice and poufy skirt. She glided partway down the staircase with the grace of a runaway model, and a little murmur of appreciation when round the room.

She came to a halt at the first landing, and smiled out at the crowd. When the students kept talking amongst themselves, her eyes narrowed, and one silver slipper began to tap beneath her dress. The crowd went silent. As the last whisper died away, she smiled again. “I am Professor Elora. Welcome new students to the School of Good. You are about to embark on your Journey to your own Happily Ever After!”

She waited for the cheering to die down before speaking again. “Each of you will be given your class schedules and lesson books shortly. You will have an opportunity to stow your belongings in your dorm room before the first class. I know everyone is excited to be here—” She paused while a nervous titter ran round the room, “But please be advised: Not all of you are destined to be princes and princesses. Only a third of you will reach that highest honor, and that’s based on your class rankings. The class in each school will be divided into six groups of twenty for each course. Students ranked in the top five consistently in your group will be assigned the Leader track. Take a good look around at your fellow classmates. Those that do not reach the standard of Leader will become your loyal sidekicks, and those who rank below that will become mogrifs—transformed into your animal friends. Scoring a twenty in three of your courses in a row will result in your failure from the school. You _don’t_ want to fail, my dears.” Her smile this time was less Glenda the Good and more Wraith Queen.

“She can’t be serious. Everyone is okay with this?” John murmured more or less to himself, but several of the boys standing next to him frowned. One wanna-be prince shushed him.

“We all know where you’ll end up.” Charming sneered at John and then switched his attention back to the speaker when she aggressively cleared her throat.

“As I was saying,” the woman said with heavy emphasis, as if she was aware of the conversation between Charming and John, “there are a few imperative rules. First: The Endless Forest is barred to entry by first-year students. Granted, I realize the more adventurous of you think you may ignore me, but _no one_ is to enter the forest after dark. It isn’t safe. It’s where all the wild things are.” She smirked as though this meant something to the crowd, and smiled at the appreciative titters. “Second: no student is allowed on the rooftops. They are patrolled by gargoyles who have been instructed to kill all intruders, and no matter how many times we try to teach them otherwise, they can’t tell a student from an intruder. I trust I’m making myself clear here. Trespassers will be eaten. The bridge between the two schools is also off limits. There will be some joint exercises with the Nevers as the year progresses, as it will be necessary for you to recognize and battle your Nemesis. Otherwise, you are to remain in your own school at all times. Very well. That’s all for now. Class dismissed.”

The columns of students boiled up the staircase in two colorful waves, splitting at the landing to go to separate wings: the boys on one side and the girls on the other. John could see now why the staircase had to be so wide. No matter. The first thing he needed to do was find Rodney. After that, they could go to the School Master and get out of this farce. Barring that, he’d find a way back or Ronon and Teyla would find a way in. John followed the male students up the stairs.

Professor Elora stood smiling radiantly in the middle of the staircase as the students filed past, only to widen her eyes at the sight of John. “Well, hello there.” She stretched the word _hello_ into throaty syllables as she lifted her eyebrows and tucked her chin becomingly.

John gave her a little nod in passing. “Sup.”

As expected, his lack of utter devotion proved irresistible. She reached out and caught him by the arm. Her voice developed an outright purr. “I’ve never seen anyone like you among the students before.”

John allowed himself to be stopped. “Yeah, why is that, do you think?”

She flipped a lock of hair over her shoulder. “It’s not without precedent. It’s just never happened since I’ve been here. If there’s anything I can do to help you, just ask.” She paused only to add suggestively, “Anything.”

“Now that you mention it, I’m looking for someone, a friend of mine. Rodney McKay. You know him?”

She frowned. “Such an unusual name. It doesn’t ring a bell. Let me check.” She snapped her fingers and a scroll appeared in her hand. She let it fall open as she scanned the names listed on it. “No, I don’t see that name at all.”

“Are you sure? Came last night, same as me. From the same village.”

Her head jerked up. She rapidly re-rolled the scroll and it disappeared with another snap of her fingers. “My dear, if he came from the same village as you, he won’t be _here_. And he won’t be a friend. A Nemesis, perhaps, but not a friend. Two people are taken from each village. One is an Ever.” She indicated John with a somewhat doubtful flourish. “The other is a Never. He wouldn’t be here. He’s in the other School.”

“How do I get to the other School?”

Her words dripped with haughty icicles when she spoke. “You don’t. And you’d better hurry and find your boots. You’ll be late for class.”

****

Rodney woke in a narrow bed too small for his frame, and knew a moment of relief at being back in Atlantis, even if he wasn’t on his own orthopedic mattress. What a strange dream. First the ridiculous repairs that had to be symbolic of his feeling overworked lately, then the oddly sinister little girl, and being snatched out of a sound sleep by some Death-like character and whisked away by Goa’uld rings. What on Earth had he eaten for dinner (figuratively speaking, that is) to have triggered such nightmares? The only nice part about the dream had been when he’d gotten in bed next to John, but even then, he’d pretended he didn’t want any contact at all because, yeah, he valued his life as well as John’s friendship. He’d lain like a corpse on his narrow strip of the bed, until he felt John relax into sleep beside him. Only then, had Rodney been able to relax as well. In a better dream, he would have rolled over to wrap his arms around John, sharing his own body heat, as the poor man was always freezing. Teyla and Ronon would be somewhere else—nearby, in case of trouble, but out of earshot. And Rodney would have—

He wrinkled his nose. Something must have died in his room because it stank of old moldy socks and leftover Chinese food.

_Oh no. I’m not in Atlantis._

His eyes flew open.

“Oh, look.” A small boy with greasy hair and a large wart on his nose stood looking down at Rodney. “It’s alive.”

Rodney yelped and grabbed for the sheet covering him, as though it might offer some protection. As it seemed to be the source of the strange smell, he quickly pushed it aside.

A bigger lad swung himself off one of the cots along the far wall and lurched toward the first boy. Like the boy who’d spoken, he was dressed in dusty black robes that bore the emblem of a black swan embossed on the shoulder. His forehead was knobby, and his brows grew together in a single line. As he joined the first kid, he smacked a meaty fist into his palm. “What’s this old geezer doing here?”

“Hey, I resent that.” Rodney sat up, only to discover he was wearing the same kind of robe as the kids. “Where is here, exactly?”

“You don’t know?” A ferret-faced boy stepped out of the shadows from the corner and joined the other two. “Well, they said there would be some fresh blood this year.”

“If you call that fresh,” the warty boy snorted. “More like past the expiration date.”

“That’s quite enough of that.” Rodney got up from the bed, wincing at unexpectedly sore muscles. “Where’s my team? Have they already gone down to breakfast?” The stone-walled room didn’t look anything like the attic space he’d gone to sleep in the night before, but maybe they’d moved in the middle of the night for some reason and he just didn’t remember it. Even as the hopeful thought entered his mind, he knew it was a lie, but he needed it to be true just now. In a flash, he recalled being hauled out of bed and dragged into the middle of the attic room, only to have a set of rings form around him. _Oh shit._

“Let’s just kill him and be done with it.”

They were kids. Just kids. He wasn’t going to let them intimidate him. Particularly before breakfast. He rose to full height only to bend down to nose height with the smallest boy. “Try it. I’m Dr. Rodney McKay, better known as the smartest man in two galaxies. I’ll have you know I’ve destroyed 5/6 of a solar system.”

As intimidating claims went, that one really was hard to beat. As expected, the trio of boys looked impressed, if against their will. The warty boy shrank back from his eye-to-eye confrontation. The meaty henchmen stood with his mouth gaping. It was the ferret-faced boy who said, “You’re just making that up.”

“I dunno.” The warty kid shot his cohort a sideways glance. “It seemed awfully specific.”

“Made it up, did I?” Rodney wheeled on the ferret-faced boy and leaned in with his best sneering glare. “Perhaps you’d like to hear how it was done.”

And he proceeded to tell them at great length about Project Arcturus and the Ancients attempt to harness zero point module energy in their battle against the Wraith. Sure, he might have embellished the story a bit, what storyteller didn’t do that? And maybe minimized Zelenka’s role, but when the kids asked questions, they assumed he had minions anyway, and it was only natural to designate Radek to such a position for the purposes of telling the story. He only hesitated when it came to the part about Collins being ordered into the command access center to manually boost power to the containment field. On his bad days, he never forgot what happened to Collins, and lay awake nights blaming himself for the man’s death. But in the rush of having a captive audience hanging on his every word, he’d sort of come to the part of the story where Collins died before realizing it, and his words trailed off.

“So what happened? Did altering the power work?”

“No.” Rodney’s shoulders slumped. “There was a radiation spike. Collins died instantly. And the containment field destabilized. We had to do an emergency evacuation of the station. Hence blowing up 5/6 of a solar system.”

“Whoa.” The ferret-faced boy’s eyes grew round as he breathed his admiration. “Well, now it all makes sense. Of course you’re a Never. You’re a natural. And you’re a first year student because you obviously need training for your raw talent. You’re destined for great things. Maybe even the greatest Never ever.”

Rodney couldn’t help it; he preened a little at this assessment. “Thanks. But, um, what’s a Never?”

Wart Nose wheezed with laughter. “He doesn’t know. Dude, this is the School of Evil. You might be the most evil student we’ve ever had.”

****

Rodney’s attempt to leave the dorm floor and seek out the Master was thwarted when he ran into a massive double-headed dog blocking the staircase. One side seemed friendly enough, but the other drooled heavily and had a mad gleam in its eye. The angry dog head snaked around to snap at Rodney. “WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?”

Rodney froze. “Um, I think I’m here by mistake.”

The more reasonable of the dog heads cocked slightly before speaking. “Nope. The School Master doesn’t make mistakes. If you’re here, you’re here for a reason.”

“But I’m not evil,” Rodney exclaimed. “If I belong here at all, it’s over at the Good School. I’m a hero many times over! I’ve saved the lives of everyone in the city, hell, everyone on the planet---multiple planets—half a dozen times at least. On a weekly basis, no less.” He crossed his arms over his chest, a move that had never failed him in the past.

“BLACK SWAN ON YOUR ROBES.” The drooling head snarled, and pointed a paw at Rodney’s filthy robes.

“Yes, well, I can’t explain that. I don’t remember much about coming here, only waking up with three repulsive children staring down at me.” Rodney stiffened when both dog heads bared their teeth in what passed for a smile. “They’re standing behind me, aren’t they?”

The dog heads nodded with glee, flinging spittle as they did so. Rodney stepped back out of range and cast a glance over his shoulder at the three scowling boys standing behind him. Up and down the corridor, heads popped out of rooms to see what was going on.

“I need to speak to whoever is in charge here!” Rodney spoke in the voice that would make most of his subordinates quake.

“Good luck with that, Bruce.”

Rodney wasn’t sure who’d spoken, but all three boys were smirking at him when he turned around. He’d introduced himself in the room, so it wasn’t that the kids didn’t know his name. From the condescension the statement, Rodney could only assume it was an insult, like “okay, boomer.” His palm itched to smack some faces.

A gong sounded, reverberating through the hall and making Rodney’s teeth ache.

“BREAKFAST!” The dog heads bellowed together, and the massive beast galloped off down the stairs. Rodney got caught up in the wave of students charging behind, and followed the crowd down to the dining area.

After the most appalling breakfast ever, Rodney followed his erstwhile roommates into the huge assembly room. The students filed into chairs arranged on one side of the hall. The rest of the seating remained empty. Rodney threw himself down in a chair next to Ferret Face. “They call that food? Look, I’m not a picky eater by any means. I _like_ MREs, for pity’s sake. But unsalted oatmeal? What kind of bilge is that?”

Ferret Face glanced down the aisle, but as all the other seats were taken, he sighed and slunk down into his chair. “What’s an MRE? Besides, they had stuff to put on the oatmeal.”

“Crickets and spiders? Those were _condiments_?” The pitch of Rodney’s outraged commentary made heads turn.

“You know what they say,” Ferret Face shrugged. “A spider a day…”

Rodney shuddered theatrically. “What about this other school? The School of Good, right? What do they get for breakfast?”

He now had the attention of most of the students sitting nearby.

A small, reedy voice piped up. “Biscuits hot out of the oven, brushed with melted butter. Slabs of bacon cooked to crispy perfection. Platters of eggs cooked anyway you like them. French toast smothered in cinnamon and dripping with syrup. Fresh scones packed with blueberries and cranberries.”

Heads swiveled toward the speaker. To Rodney’s surprise, the boy had a third eye, bloodshot and globous, sitting in the middle of his forehead. “Or so I’ve heard,” the boy sighed.

“Cyclops here sees things no one else can.” Wart Nose whispered as Rodney’s mouth fell open.

Rodney turned to Wart Nose with a frown. “He can’t be Cyclops. He has three eyes, not one single eye. Cyclops means “circle-eye”, and was a mythological creature in Ancient Greece.”

“Don’t call my dad mythological!” The boy snapped. “He was as real as you or me. That is until that wiley know-it-all Odysseus killed him.” The boy leaned in, the large eye in the center of his forehead narrowing as he peered at Rodney. “You’re not related to him by any chance. You look as though you might be.”

“What?” Rodney went into full bluster mode. “That’s ridiculous. I’m not from Greece. I’m from Canada. Nowhere near Greece.” It dawned on him the Ancients had stolen—or seeded—even more from Earth than previously thought.

Where was his team? Surely they’d noticed he’d been kidnapped by now. He knew they’d be moving heaven and earth to find him, but what was taking so long? And should he just play along with the set-up in the meantime or be looking for an escape?

Doors opened on the opposite side of the room, and the most beautiful people Rodney had ever seen trooped in. The girls were dressed in pink satin gowns, with bows in their long, luxurious hair. Even the girls in with red hair looked fabulous in pink. The boys wore blue and gold tunics over white breeches with gold boots, and all of them looked as though they worked at Disneyland over the summer. Everyone traipsing into the room buzzed with excitement as they looked over at Rodney’s side of the hall and whispered behind their hands, smiling in that oh-so-superior way jocks and cheerleaders had aimed in Rodney’s direction ever since he was a kid. Something inside rankled—and then curdled—at the implication of inferiority on his behalf.

As the new students sat down, the two-headed dog took the podium. “BE QUIET!” The rabid half roared.

Silence fell like a cloak on the room.

“I am Pollux,” the friendlier of the two dog heads spoke. “And this is my colleague, Castor.” He indicated with his paw the other head, which promptly snarled. “We’re in charge of the joint training assemblies during your stay here at the Schools of Good and Evil.”

At the mention of the ‘good’ school, a chorus of hisses and boos rose up from Rodney’s side of the room, only to be replaced with cheers when the ‘evil’ school was announced.

Pollux waved a paw at the assembled students. “Yes, yes, we all know. Much hatred and rivalry between you. Save it for the end-of-year trials.”

“WHEN IT REALLY MATTERS.” Castor bellowed unexpectedly. “WHEN YOUR LIVES ARE ON THE LINE.”

“I don’t know why they bother,” a voice from the Good side carried in the vaulting acoustics of the hall. “Good always wins. Everyone knows that. Evil _always_ loses.”

A certain amount of gloating rippled around the Good gallery, while glum nods bobbed all around Rodney.

“Is that true?” The question burst out of Rodney unintentionally. “I mean, I know we’d like to believe that it’s true, but honestly, the older I get, the more it seems to me that evil is winning. Climate change, the rise of fascism, pandemics decimating populations, the dismantling of social programs to help the less fortunate, the greed of corporations making medications impossible to afford, the undermining of nationalized health care in favor of private systems few can afford, employers who expect you to make bricks without clay, demanding twice the work with half the personnel and ignoring overtime, and then firing your ass right before you become vested in the pension plan…”

The faces of the students sitting next to him made Rodney realize no one had a clue what he was talking about. “Er. There’s the Wraith. And the Replicators.”

“Who’ve been set at each other’s throats now. So evil isn’t winning there, either.” Ferret Face peered at Rodney. “Why are you turning red? You didn’t have anything to do with _that_ , did you?”

Rodney coughed uncomfortably. “I might have reactivated the code that allowed the Replicators to modify their own codes—and opened the door for them to cut off the Wraith’s food supply. But we took care of that. The Replicators, I mean. And what’s left of the Wraith population—”

“OMG.” Ferret Face smacked his forehead and turned to the kid sitting next to him. “This guy activated the Replicator code.”

“Hey!” Rodney protested as shocked faces whipped in his direction. “I fixed the problem as soon as I realized what had happened.”

“Whole planetary populations died.” A boy behind Rodney spoke in a kind of horrified awe. “That’s supervillain status right there.”

“But I _fixed_ it.” Rodney grew desperate. “I caused all the Replicators to return to their home planet and then collapse in on themselves in a neutronium ball that sank into the planet’s core and exploded. Bye-bye Replicators. So I’m a hero, not a villain.”

Ferret Face sank back in his seat and nudged the kid next to him again. “You hear that? My roomie destroyed the Replicators! How bad-ass is that?”

“And what he said about climate change and disease and politics and all?” Admiration shimmered on Wart Nose’s face. “The death of all hope? Man, he’s solid on that too. Don’t you see? Evil is going to win. Not just this year. But for _always_.” He patted Rodney on the shoulder. “We’ve got Rodney on our side.”

For an instant, a weird sort of pride surged through Rodney before he reminded himself he was good, not evil. He rolled suddenly tight muscles in his neck, and wondered if the reason his right shoulder felt stiff was because he’d slept wrong.

“Well, just hope he’s not in any of your classes,” Cyclops pointed out with a sick grin.

The cheerfulness surrounding Rodney snuffed out as quickly as someone dousing a candle.

“Er, why not?” Rodney asked, when the faces around him began to glower.

“Because,” Cyclops said with painful slowness, as though speaking to a small child, “our lives depend on our grades. Or weren’t you paying attention at orientation this morning?”

“I must have slept through it,” Rodney snapped. “What do you mean, our lives depend on our grades?”

Cyclops rolled all three of his eyes, which made Rodney queasy. “The top students go into the Leader track. Everyone else becomes a henchman or a mogrif. You know, transformed into a magical animal. You’d make a nice rat, come to think of it.” Cyclops poked him in the arm. “But if you come in last place three times in a row—pffft!” Cyclops made a slicing motion across his throat.

“Pffft?” Rodney copied the sound and the motion. “What are you saying? If you fail three classes in a row, they _kill_ you? Why don’t they just send you home?”

“No one ever leaves the School of Good and Evil except as part of a story.”

 _But Ronon left. Ronon was part of a story and he left when he joined the team._ When he became part of Atlantis. So that meant there was a way for Rodney to get out of the story as well.

He just had to find it.

“The trolls will hand out your class assignments and coursework.” Pollux indicated the trolls shuffling down the aisle with large satchels while Castor snapped at flies circling his drooling head.

The trolls on the Evil side of the aisle wadded up their papers and threw them at the students, who scrabbled around on the floor trying to piece together their curriculums. On the Good side of the aisle, there was a lot of singing as bluebirds swooped and swirled, carrying scrolls to each student.

A paper airplane floated in Rodney’s direction, spiraling lazily around his head before landing in his lap. Frowning, Rodney snatched it up, only to get something pink and sticky on his fingers. He opened the plane to discover someone had written a note inside with what appeared to be lipstick.

**_Meet me at 5 pm the bridge between the schools._ **

**_~JS_ **

Rodney’s head jerked up and he searched the room, his heart pounding in his chest. Lipstick or not, there was only one person who’d communicate with him via a paper airplane, and that person’s initials just happened to be J. S. Rodney couldn’t believe it when he spied the only person wearing black on the pink side of the room. There he was, lounging against the wall giving every appearance of lazy insouciance, the way he had a thousand times before. John Sheppard. Amidst the sea of pink, he was a welcome contrast.

Rodney had never been happier to see anyone in his entire life. It was almost has if he were seeing John for the first time in his life. The long, lean form with one shoulder pressed into the stone wall as though he had nothing better do to than to stand there and all day in which to do it. The crazy hair defying gravity and military strictures to stand in spiky disarray. The shadow of stubble on his face bearing witness to the fact he hadn’t shaved in over twenty-four hours now. That half-smile, half-smirk that Rodney would know anywhere. The gleam in those hazel eyes that seemed to be for Rodney alone, as though there was no one else in the room, or even on the planet. Just the two of them.

_Thank God._

Everything was going to be okay now. Rodney just knew it.

He started to raise his hand and wave, only the gong sounded and the hall erupted into noise as the students began emptying out of the room. Rodney craned his head looking for John but he was no longer standing against the wall.

“What’s this?” Wart Nose grabbed the paper out of Rodney’s hands.

“Nothing. Give that back.” Rodney felt no guilt at using his longer reach, stronger muscles, and heavier weight to shove Wart Nose aside and steal the paper back. He smeared the message with his fingers and turned the paper over. On the other side, a class schedule was printed.

“Get a load of this,” Ferret Face hooted, reading over Rodney’s shoulder. “It’s the course work for the Evers. Beautification.” He continued reading in a high falsetto. “Princess Etiquette. Animal Communication.” He crumbled the paper and tossed it down. “I’d die of boredom if that was my schedule.”

Rodney collected the paper off the floor and slipped it into the pocket of his robe. “What’s our coursework like then?”

“You know. Uglification. Curses and Death Traps. An hour in the Doom Room. That sort of thing.” Ferret Face spoke in the tone of someone who was speaking the obvious.

“The Doom Room?” Rodney’s voice held the faintest of quavers.

“Yeah. Where they torture you with your greatest fears.”

The image of a whale coming up beneath the rowboat in which Rodney sat, maw open with hundreds of pointy teeth, made him shudder.

Until he remembered John had been with him on that imaginary boat. Both the John he knew and the doppelganger masquerading as John. Good John and Evil John, as it were. That was enough to make his head spin. Maybe he could skip the Doom Room.

“Well, come on. You don’t want to be late for class.” Ferret Face shoved a book bag at Rodney and hurried off with the others.

_John came after me when I was stuck in the doppelganger’s nightmare world. He refused to give up on me when the parasite was turning my brain to mush. He’s here now, and he has a plan._

Five pm seemed like a lifetime away.

****

Rodney’s first class was Uglification. Right away, he hit a snag.

“I can’t eat or drink anything without knowing the ingredients.” He pushed the bowl being offered to him away while giving it a wide-eyed stare. Unless he was imagining things, there were tadpoles swimming in the murky broth. “And I have _very_ sensitive skin.”

“Congratulations.” Professor Grime, a snaggle-toothed dwarf, grinned broadly. “You’ve now informed the rest of the class the best way to make you miserable, if not kill you outright. I hope you have more brains than that when it comes to fighting your Nemesis.”

Nettled, Rodney shot back, “I just don’t see the point in making ourselves ugly. It’s a crutch if you ask me. A false attempt to scare your opponents.”

“A crutch?” Professor Grime was offended. “The more horrible your appearance, the more fearsome you are to your enemies. In fact, your unhealthy attachment to looking normal—even attractive—is a crutch. That’s what the Evers do—spend hours on their toilette.” Grime pretended to curl a lock of hair around his finger as he gave _toilette_ the French pronunciation. “When you embrace the true ugliness of your nature, you are free to be the evil genius you are destined to be!” He tossed his gnarled hands into the air to the cheering of the class.

A whisper of doubt crept inside Rodney’s heart, found that it had some footholds there, and began setting up camp.

_You’re no John Sheppard._

His sister’s words had stung in the manner that all truths do, even if they were spoken by a family member. In fact sometimes the things spoken by family hit the hardest because you knew they spoke the truth as they saw it.

How much time had he wasted trying to stay fit and impress his dates while in college? Buying hair products when the inevitable loss began and he refused to admit he was going bald? Skin creams and vitamins and supplements that were supposed to restore his hair to its glorious youth? Embarrassment caused him to cover his eyes with his hand at the memory of the laser cap he’d made in an attempt to reverse his hair loss. How much time had he wasted trying to follow Jennifer’s strictures about eating right and exercising more when anyone could see their relationship had been doomed from the beginning? Did she ever care about his cholesterol or blood pressure—or had her real concern been whether or not he represented the kind of man-candy she expected on her arm? Someone she wouldn’t be ashamed to be seen in public with.

_Man-candy?_

This time the derisive inner voice sounded distinctly like John but Rodney brushed off the attempt at rational thought. His entire life he’d tried to fit in, to suppress his intellect because it scared those around him. Even Katie had wanted him to be nicer.

_Well, no more Mr. Nice Guy._

Here at the School of Evil, he could let go, and everyone else would have to catch up to him. Though he drew the line at drinking tadpoles.

“Student, prepare your potions!” Grime sat his bowl down on the corner of his desk and took out a large pocket watch. “You have thirty minutes!”

The students hurried to their stations and set up their bowls. Several members of the class dashed into the supply closet to select their ingredients, nearly bumping into each other as they ran back to their stations. Pestles clanged into stone mortar bowls, and students sneezed explosively when ground newt or stinging nettle dust got up their noses. Cries went up when someone accidentally set their potion on fire, and grew into shrieks of rage when a small dragon burst from a closet and doused every station within six feet of the fire with spouts of water from its mouth. Every so often Grime would bawl the time, and students flew about in desperation to finish their potions.

Rodney eyed his competition with a mental sneer. _Amateurs_. He had his Bunsen burner lit with a flick of his striker, and erected privacy screens to prevent the other students from watching him construct a proper distillation apparatus. Within minutes, malodorous sulfur fumes rose from the small white crucible over the flame, and Rodney was the first to add the required distillate to his mixture—just three drops. Enough to make the tadpoles writhe, but not enough to kill them.

“Time’s up!” Grime bellowed. “Lay your instruments down and step away from your potions.”

Grime wandered the laboratory, pausing at each station to critique the appearance of each student’s potion. The students themselves stood in an agony of anticipation, either because they were worried about failing or because they were anxious about the effect their potion would have on them. Grime eviscerated each student in turn with his remarks, reminding Rodney of himself at his worst when dealing with his subordinates. After each evaluation, Grime demanded the student sample his project.

Most of the students pinched their noses and bravely chugged their potion. Some gave cautious sips, and then struggled not to gag and spit. Within seconds of consumption, however, warts popped out on faces, or teeth grew yellow and crooked. One student howled and clawed at his cheeks when scales formed. With each student, a number appeared out of thin air, floating over their heads. When the boy next to Rodney managed only to produce a single zit as a result of drinking his potion, the number 19 popped into existence above him. He tried to swat it away, but it avoided his hands and returned to its former position. The numbers rearranged themselves when a new test proved more successful than a previous one, but for the most part, nothing changed. Once the boy with the scales stopped crying, he stood smirking at the number “1” flashing over his head.

Twenty students in the class. The numbers were rankings. The words of Cyclops at the morning assembly came back to Rodney. Twenty was bad—a failing score. Three twenties in a row and you were eliminated—whatever that meant. Determination not to be last rose up within Rodney, but was it already too late? No, he’d made his potion brilliantly. No one else had his expertise in the labs.

When Grime came to Rodney’s station, he pursed his lips as he circled Rodney’s creation.

Feeling suddenly puckish, Rodney dropped his privacy screens with a flourish of his hands. “Nailed it,” he sang out.

“Hmmm,” Grime muttered. “Excellent lab skills. High marks for presentation and distillation performance.” He plucked at his lower lip as he glanced over Rodney’s work, and then without warning, snatched the lid off the tiny crucible and sniffed. Rodney gasped and hurriedly covered his nose and mouth with his sleeve, but though Grime’s eyes watered, he didn’t drop dead. “Your hydrogen sulfide is magnificent.”

After the scathing comments Grime had made about the other student’s work, the praise should have made Rodney puff his chest with pride, but for some odd reason it fell on his shoulders like a weighted blanket. He pushed a greasy strand of hair off his forehead and wondered when his hair had grown long enough to be an issue. He couldn’t recall the last time his hair fell into his eyes, for crying out loud. But before he could give it much thought, Grime fixed a sick smile on him. “The measure of a good potion lies in its effects, no matter how prettily you throw it together. Test your potion.”

Rodney cast his glance at the bowl where the tadpoles twitched feebly. “I… I can’t drink that.”

“Who said anything about drinking it?” Grime grabbed Rodney by the back of the neck and shoved him face first into the bowl.  
  
****

In the meantime, John had run into troubles of his own.

After fending off a pack of swooning Evergirls, he discovered he’d been assigned to a room with Charming and two of his interchangeable BFFs. It didn’t worry John any, as he planned to have rescued Rodney and be off-world by nightfall, but Charming was less than thrilled.

“He’s not an Ever,” Charming complained to the BFFs. “Look at him.”

The BFFs narrowed their eyes in what approximated as thought. John ignored them and went to his assigned cot. “Ever” clothing had been laid out on the bedspread—the same blue and gold tunic with white breeches, along with gold tall boots.

John drew the line at dressing like a Disney character, but he needed shoes. A lifetime of riding horses made tucking his BUD pant legs into a flat fold so they wouldn’t rub practically automatic. He tugged on the gold boots, wishing for his regulation military boots, even as he appreciated the fit and the silky smooth leather. No sooner had he pulled the boots, however, than an inky wave swept over them and they turned black.

“See!” Charming drew his sword. “I’m telling you, he’s a Never!”

John merely tapped the white swan on his chest and shrugged. He knew exactly how much his trademark half-smile irked Charming by the way the boy huffed and stormed out of the room.

A gong sounded, and the students poured into the corridor on their way to class.

The first “course” of the day was two hours in something called the Groom Room, where, judging from the syllabus, the Evers would do things like apply seaweed masques to their faces and take baths in unicorn’s milk while listening to fairies play harp music, for Pete’s sake. After over twenty years in the military, John didn’t need more than five minutes tops on his morning routine, which he’d stretched to ten during his years in Atlantis. Given it would be difficult to cut class without penalty at any time other than lunch, he decided to use the time slot to do some reconnaissance.

The School of Good was freaking weird. It smelled like the inside of a cotton candy machine. Probably because three-fourths of the decorations were made of sugar. John discovered this when attempting to open a locked door and the handle broke off in his hand. It proved to be made of butterscotch. John pocketed a piece, as well as some bits of cornice (peppermint) and molding (shortbread). Word at breakfast had been the Nevers were fed abysmal concoctions suitable to their evil status. John suspected Rodney would be jonesing for some sweets by the time he caught up with him.

He’d almost not recognized Rodney sitting among the Nevers in the assembly that morning. He’d been dressed in the same robes as the rest of the Nevers for one, and there were enough students of larger-than-average size that being an adult hadn’t made Rodney stand out from the rest. But it was more than that. His hair had been matted down to his head, with long strands that almost looked as if they covered a bald spot. And his face had taken on a sort of lumpy appearance. What the hell? Rodney had only been gone overnight. There was something very wrong with the situation here, and John was determined to get Rodney out of it and back to Atlantis ASAP.

It had been a short matter of work to talk one of the Evers into loaning him her lipstick (she didn’t have a pen) and fashioning a paper airplane out of the course handout. John was good with paper planes, and had managed to target Rodney with his makeshift note. The Bridge between the schools had seemed as good a place as any to meet—a spot they would both likely be able to find—despite the dire warnings from the teachers not to go there.

First order: find the School Master’s office. Chances were the transportation rings were operated from there, and John didn’t see any other way of returning home at the moment.

The first room he’d broken into proved to be some sort of store room-slash-drop zone for old museum pieces. Dust motes danced in the single beam of light that managed to break through the dirt-streaked window. Most of the larger pieces of statuary were shrouded in white sheets. Paintings were stacked along one wall, their gilt frames grimy with age. A few were hung, and like the gruesome image of Ronon from Bella’s storybook, most depicted horrific scenes of battle or death. To John’s eye, the ratio of winners of Good vs Evil seemed about fifty-fifty, but then he recalled what he’d overheard at the assembly about Good always winning. The paintings looked hundreds of years old, and done in the radiant light style of the Dutch Masters—all dark about the edges with a heavenly light in the middle focusing on the main characters in the piece. The Evers all had that rosy-cheeked glow John associated with the period (though he’d die before admitting he’d enjoyed art history in prep school) and the Nevers had the sick-green complexion that reminded John of zombies… or the Wraith.

The artwork piled closest to the door seemed to be of a more recent vintage, and from what John could see, appeared to be along the lines of the traditional fairy tales, with the hero saving the heroine from the clutches of some evil villain. John came across a stack that seemed to tell an entire story, and studied each painting carefully. They read like panels in a grimdark Disney cartoon, with the Evers riding off into the sunset, usually traipsing over the Never’s dead body on the way.

Backing out of the room, he decided he was getting nowhere fast with a room to room search. At this rate, he’d run out of time before he found anything useful. He needed eyes on the layout of the place, and that meant going to the roof. He doubted the strictures for students to avoid the area were meant as anything more than safety measures to prevent someone from falling. How bad could gargoyles be, anyway?

He climbed the wide staircase once more, and followed the corridor down the Everboys’ dormitory to the door at the end, which opened easily enough (under the persuasion of his boot) into a spiral staircase. Sucking back a sigh, he began the climb.

It seemed to last for hours. Life in the military made John a fit man, but by the time he reached the roof, he was winded. The door at the top was locked, but the hinges were on the inside, so John merely removed them. He emerged into brilliant sunshine onto the roof.

The sun beat down on the stone tiles, reflecting heat back. The warmth on John’s neck and shoulders, coupled with the light breeze, felt like the first kiss of spring. Fluffy clouds floated gently overhead in a brilliant blue sky. The roof was surrounded by a high parapet to prevent falls, and there wasn’t a gargoyle in sight. In fact, the rooftop was empty. Moving quietly, John slipped to the edge and peered out over the wall.

Surrounding the schools in all directions was a forest so dense, so deep, it appeared black. It was almost as if light couldn’t penetrate its depths.

“That lets out finding our way to a Gate.”

John looked down, and saw the bridge between the schools that had been mentioned as a no-go zone at the morning assembly. It was a narrow construction covering a moat that contained crystal-clear blue water on one side and a black sludgey mix on the other. From the halfway point, the bridge led to the kind of castle Dracula might live in, all black turrets with bars on the windows and vultures circling overhead. At least he knew where he’d be meeting Rodney before dark.

But it was the tower between the two schools that caught his attention. Reminiscent of the phallic-like towers the Ancients were so fond of building, it also looked like the one in the storybook Rodney had pointed out, the page with the guy holding the ZPM. Binoculars would have come in handy about now. Shading his eyes with his hand, John tried to see into the room at the top of the tower. As he stared, he thought he could make out movement—a tall figure dressed in robes crossed in front of the only window.

The School Master. It had to be. Only the mysterious entity who ran the school would have his own tower. John didn’t hold much hope for being able to convince the SM to let him take Rodney and go, but the transportation rings had to function out of that tower. Unfortunately, John couldn’t see any way to get there. The tower rose out of the center of the moat itself, and appeared to be isolated from the rest of the school.

One thing at a time. The first was getting Rodney back.

A sibilant sound caught his attention, and John turned to see a Wraith standing between him and the door. At least, that’s what he thought it was at first. Same sick-green complexion with the weird little slits running down the cheeks. Same albino-white hair and facial tattoos. Mouth full of sharp, yellowed teeth open in a hiss. Only as John watched, green-leathery wings snapped open to a span of nearly ten feet.

This was a _gargoyle_?

John did the only thing he could do. He swung off the parapet and began climbing down the side of the castle.

With a shriek of rage, the gargoyle rushed him, and John felt claws grab at his hair just as he ducked down. The rough stone wall offered plenty of purchase, but even so, John had to take his time reaching for footholds. He’d also forgotten to factor in the fact these gargoyles could fly. The horrid beast lifted off the roof with long sweeping strokes of its wings and dropped down beside John, hovering in place. The down draft from its wingstrokes nearly pushed John off the wall.

“I’m a student!” John freed one hand to tug at the swan on his chest. “Student, get it? Not bad. Good.”

He couldn’t remember being in a tighter spot. It was a long way down, and he’d put himself in a position where he couldn’t even fight. He scrabbled for a toehold, slipped, and banged into the wall. Something in his pocket cracked, and he remembered the candy. Fishing out a huge piece of butterscotch, he waved it in front of the gargoyle. “Hey. Want this? Yum, yum, tastes good.”

Satisfied he had the gargoyle’s attention when the creature’s black eyes tracked his hand movement, John let the candy fall. “Fetch.”

The gargoyle dove after it. John scrambled up the wall and pelted across the roof for the door, even as he heard the screech of other gargoyles. He threw the door back into place as the first gargoyle hit it and almost pushed its way inside. John stretched his hand out for the hinge bolts on the floor behind him while holding the door in place and just managed to grab one and drop it into the bracket before a second blow joined the first. He wiped the sweat from his brow. “Okay then. Time for Plan B.”

****

Being dunked face-first into his concoction in Potions class resulted in hideous—and painful—boils breaking out all over Rodney’s face. A flaming number “1” hovered over Rodney’s head for an instant before it shriveled into a blinking “20.”

“A twenty!” Rodney mumbled through swollen lips as he waved at his face. “No one else’s potion can beat this.”

“Yes, you earned 20 points for your potion,” Grime said smugly. “But you refused to drink it. So minus twenty points to you.”

“Two more failing grades and it’s curtains for you.” The painfully thin boy next to Rodney drew a slicing motion across his neck with glee.

“People keep saying that.” Rodney turned his fiercest glare on the kid. “But you don’t have any proof of that, do you?”

Grime stalked up to Rodney’s station, whipped out a wand, and swirled it in the air with a muttered incantation. A mist formed in front of Rodney, which then pushed to the edges of a circle to reveal a portal. Through the opening, drizzling rain shrouded a figure in black as he dug morosely in the ground, throwing spades of wet dirt over his shoulder. Stacks of coffins surrounded him, some gold or glass, others cheap wooden boxes. After he finished digging, he consulted a damp scroll, and then heaved two shiny coffins down in the same burial pit.

“Rebecca and Olaf. Killed on their honeymoon because they didn’t pay attention in class.” Grime laid heavy emphasis on the final words and glared at the classroom in general.

They watched as the grave digger moved to a new site far away from the rest, and finished a grave already started there. He tipped a wooden box in without ceremony and began covering it with dirt.

“The last Never who failed three classes in a row.” Grime wiped the cloud image away as the gong sounded. “Class dismissed!”

“Nobody likes you, and you’re going to die.” The boy who’d spoken now bore a floating “1” over his head as he left the room with a smirk firmly in place.

“Who is that?” Rodney asked Ferret Face as they trooped out with the rest of the students. The pain from his boils had started to ease, and relief swept over him when he touched his face and realized the lesions were shrinking. The potion was temporary, after all.

“That’s Bandersnatch. His dad was Rumpelstiltskin. Bander never got over the way his dad died, and he’s got a temper, so I’d stay out of his way if I were you. He thinks he knows everything.” Ferret Face finished with a sniff.

Rodney couldn’t remember exactly how the Rumpelstiltskin story ended, but he knew it went badly for the imp.

At least he knew now who the competition was.

His next course was Henchmen Training. He followed the rest of his group into the classroom, only to be faced with the two-headed dog—minus one head. Pollux, it would seem, was teaching a class to the Evers. Castor, with his single head perched to one side of his dog-body, looked lopsided, and somehow less fierce. Rodney couldn’t help but wonder how Pollux was teaching anyone without a body. Did they prop his head up on the podium? Did they give him another body? If so, where was the head of _that_ body?

Castor clutched a piece of chalk between his toes and painstakingly scratched out the five strategies for training henchmen on the blackboard.

  1. Command
  2. Taunt
  3. Trick
  4. Bribe
  5. Bully



Rodney’s heart sank a bit when he read the instructions. Where was John when you needed him? All he had to do was say something in that drawling manner of his, and people would fall all over themselves to do as he asked. On the other hand, Rodney was used to ordering minions about, and he strongly suspected his command style leaned heavily toward taunting and bullying. But that didn’t make him _evil_. It just meant he was a smart man who didn’t tolerate fools lightly.

“Your first challenge: how to train….” Castor stepped back and whipped off the sheet covering the cage behind him to reveal a large gold goose sitting on a nest within. “The Golden Goose.”

“But the Golden Goose hates Nevers.” Bander frowned.

Castor bared his fangs in what passed for a smile. “If you can train the Golden Goose to do your bidding, then taming a gargoyle or a mountain troll should be a piece of cake.”

Castor released the latch on the cage, and the goose opened her eyes. With a smile, she stepped out of the cage, and shook herself with a ruffle of shimmering feathers.

“Why is it smiling?” Rodney asked. He hadn’t even known geese _could_ smile.

“Because it knows this is a waste of time,” Wart Nose grimaced. “Everyone knows GG only listens to Evers.”

“Excuses, excuses.” Castor picked something repellent out from between his teeth with one claw. “Your assignment is to make the stupid bird lay one of its golden eggs. The bigger the egg, the higher your class score.”

Hope surged within Rodney. If the goose only listened to Evers, then Rodney could prove he was good if the goose obeyed him. All he had to do was get it to lay the biggest egg. Stealthily, he moved to the back of the line. No point in going first, or even second. He had to observe which methods were the most successful and improve upon them.

“Now, don’t start with bullying until you’ve tried the other four steps first,” Castor warned the class. “Henchmen can bully back. And you don’t want to piss a goose off.”

This Rodney knew from experience. Canadian geese might be pretty, but they were mean suckers, given the chance. Rodney had never forgotten being chased by a flock as a small boy when he’d run out of bread at a popular feeding site.

The first contestants had no luck, even when one of them went so far as to physically take the goose by the neck and attempt to choke her. That student got pinched by the goose beak for his efforts, and his hand curled up in a claw with the pain. Surprisingly, it was Ferret Face who succeeded first. He’d been taunting the goose by calling her names when he took it upon himself to kick her cage, where her nest was located.

Big mistake.

Flying into a hissing, honking rage, the goose got so worked up she chased Ferret Face around the room until she grabbed him by the pants and jerked them down. Ferret Face fell with his legs trapped together in his pants and GG rained bruising blows to his legs while the rest of the class winced at his cries. Flapping her wings as she danced and honked with goose laughter around him in circles, GG lost control and plopped out a small golden egg the size of a quarter.

“I did it!” Ferret Face crowed, pulling up his pants with one hand and holding up the egg in the other.

“Right, because getting debagged by a goose in the middle of a battle won’t get you killed.” Castor sneered, but an egg was an egg.

The rest of the Nevers attempted to duplicate Ferret Face’s success. Wart Nose made faces, another boy tried tickling the goose, a third told rude jokes. The only student who came close to making GG laugh again was a boy who jumped on Castor’s back and tried to ride him like a horse until Castor reared and threw him against the wall. He slid to a heap on the floor. Tiny black bats circled his head as he stirred dizzily.

“Amateurs.” Bander walked over to GG and punched her in the gut, causing her to deposit an egg the size of his fist.

Finally, it was Rodney’s turn. The goose, exhausted from the laughter and egg laying, sprawled on the floor. Rodney didn’t care much for geese unless they graced his Christmas dinner table. But he felt sorry for GG. As he approached, the bird lifted her head and turned shining blue eyes upon him.

He studied her silently. There seemed little point in trying the tactics employed by the other students. There was no way he could physically force her to lay an egg bigger than the one Bander punched out of her, and he was beginning to see the problem in going last. The goose was simply too tired to lay any more eggs. Rodney circled the goose, nibbling on a thumbnail as he did so.

“Well?” Castor barked. “We haven’t got all day.”

“I’m thinking,” Rodney snarled, and then he snapped his fingers. Jumping forward, he plucked a single large wing feather from the goose, which squawked and struck in his direction. Rodney nimbly danced back and held up his prize. “The way I see it, the problem is one of supply and demand. The Golden Goose is valuable because there is only one. But if I extract the DNA from this feather, I can determine what makes her so different. I can splice the golden egg gene into the genes of the ordinary goose, and voilà! We can have hundreds, even thousands of golden egg-laying geese!” He waved the golden feather triumphantly. Sunlight glinted off the shaft. “It’s _science_.”

“I don’t think—” Castor began, only to gape at the goose. The class as a whole gasped as the bird’s gold feathers began to turn a dull gray. Her blue eyes, so unnatural in a goose, went dead black. The feather in Rodney’s hand turned gray as well, and then dissolved into sooty ash and disintegrated before Rodney’s eyes. A trickle of ash fell to the floor, and the withered shaft snapped in half in his grip.

Rodney turned on Castor. “I don’t understand. What’s happening?”

Castor backed up a step and wiped his muzzle with a paw. “She’d rather give up her power than let you win.”

A red “1” burst into existence with a thunderclap of sound, circling Rodney’s head like a crown.

“I’ve never seen anything so evil in my life,” Castor breathed.

Stunned, Rodney watched as his classmates edged toward the far wall.

“Grand Warlock.” Wart Nose squeaked.

“No!” Rodney protested. “I’m not evil, I swear. I’m one of the _good_ guys.”

“Ultimate Grand Warlock,” Ferret Face intoned.

Bander just looked as though he’d like to kill Rodney.

Rodney whipped around to the goose. “What did I do?”

But the goose, now gray as fog, began pecking around the floor like an ordinary bird. She lifted her head and honked.

****

The sound of the honk echoed along a magical thread that carried all the way to the Tower which stood at the dividing line on the bay. A shadow appeared at the only window. The School Master looked down over his domain. From the schools below, ghostly numbers wafted up as though carried by helium. As they passed his window, the School Master dipped his fingers into the ethereal smoke, thereby giving him the power to see who the ranking belonged to. He waited until he saw the blood-red 1 shaped like a crown and reached for it. The number revealed its history in a series of flashing images.

The Golden Goose throwing away its power for a _student_? This could be the one. The one he’d waited all these centuries for. The one who could tip the balance.

But they always came in pairs, didn’t they?

The School Master withdrew from the window to plan for their arrival.

****

The escape from the Wraith gargoyles had John rethinking his plan. He couldn’t wait until dusk to meet Rodney. He had to find him now. He knew he wouldn’t be missed for a while longer, so he made his way to the bottom of the castle and out onto the grounds.

Only he ran smack into Professor Elora as he cut through a grove of trees to avoid a group of Everboys practicing swordplay. The professor sat on a stone bench under an arched trellis working on some embroidery. As she inclined her head over the needlework, John saw birds flit in and out toward her, each bringing some sort of offering in the form of bits of fluff or feathers, but she ignored them with a serene smile on her face. A rabbit, whiskers quivering with fear (possibly at the sight of John or possibly not), stood at rigid attention, holding the skein of embroidery thread up between his soft paws. John rather thought it wasn’t _him_ the rabbit was afraid of by the way he kept cutting his eyes toward his mistress. The trellis bloomed with great, pink blossoms, despite the fact frost still lay on the grass in the shadows.

John halted, turned, and tried tiptoeing away, only to be stopped with an imperious, “You there!”

With a sigh, he straightened his shoulders, pasted on his most charming smile, and faced Professor Elora.

“What are you doing out of class?” She laid down her embroidery, snapped her fingers, and scanned the scroll that appeared out of mid-air. “You realize that skipping class will result in a failing grade, don’t you? Three bottom scores in a row and you’re out.”

John glanced around for the nearest item to lean against and decided a tree would have to do. He cozied up to the trunk and propped his shoulder against it, crossing his booted feet at the ankle so he could smile at Elora. “What if I want to be out? Out of the school, that is?”

Elora waved the scroll into nothingness, and scattered her animal companions without even looking at them as she stood and crossed briskly toward John. As soon as she left the shelter of the trellis, the flowers wilted and shriveled, as though they couldn’t maintain the bloom any longer. “This isn’t a joke. If you fail out of the school, you don’t get to go back to whatever dreary existence you had before you came here.”

John let one side of his mouth lift a little higher than the other. “I don’t know what you call dreary, but we had a pretty exciting life back home.” Habit had kept him from saying Atlantis, but when he said ‘home’ instead, something inside resonated—like hearing a bell chime or feeling a puzzle piece click into place. Atlantis _was_ home, and had been for some time.

And he was taking Rodney and going back home.

Elora sniffed in disdain. “Be that as it may, it doesn’t matter. Flunking out of school is a death sentence.”

 _Shit_. He’d better get Rodney out of here today. Still, he lifted an eyebrow. “Why is that, exactly?”

Elora began to frown, then took a finger and smoothed away the slight furrowing of her forehead. “I don’t know. It’s all part of the School Master’s plan. Ours is not to reason why.” She reached out and touched John on the arm. “Really, I’m quite concerned about you. I wouldn’t like to see you flunk out of school. I feel you have so much… potential.” Her fingers squeezed lightly, a world of suggestion in her touch.

Much as he hated what he was about to do, he knew it would work. He gave himself a negligent flick of his hand. “I had two hours of Groom room scheduled. Seriously, why mess with perfection?”

She circled him where he leaned against the tree, coming around the far side to press up against the bark as well. “Let’s see,” she murmured. “Rakishly messy hair—check. Strong, masculine arms—black looks very good on you, by the way—check. Ruggedly handsome jawline shadowed with stubble… you don’t know how I tire of seeing boys with just peach fuzz on their faces. You are as beautiful as any Ever I’ve ever seen, but you have that certain _je ne sais quoi_ … Eyes… what do I say about your eyes? Green? Brown? They catch the light like the eyes of a hawk in a sunbeam.”

Such flowery compliments always made John uncomfortable but he hid his embarrassment for the sake of the mission.

“So.” John dropped his chin slightly and shot her a knowing smile from under the thatch of his hair. “I pass Groom Room session with flying colors, then?”

Elora’s lips parted. She whipped out a wand from somewhere in the thick folds of her dress and flicked the tip at John. A shimmering number “1” appeared over his head, and shot sparkles out of the top. He started to lever himself off the tree when she shot her hand out to grab his wrist. “I think you owe me a kiss at the very least.”

 _Oh shit_. Oh well. John prepared himself to do his duty by her and was closing in to brush her lips with his when a student came running up, breathless and gasping.

“Professor! Professor Elora! You must come quickly!” The girl, also dressed in pink, had tears streaking down her face. She clutched her side and bent over to catch her breath.

“What is it, Ariel?” Elora sounded far more irritated than concerned. It occurred to John perhaps Evergirls frequently had dramatic emergencies. Either that or Elora was pissed at the interruption.

“The Beast,” the girl gasped as she straightened. “The Beast got out of the Doom Room!”

“Oh my!” Elora swung toward John and blinked at him beseechingly. “We need your help.”

Something in John nudged at him to go with her, and truthfully, it sounded like a real emergency. But there were at least fifty Everboys qualified to come to the rescue, not to mention a school full of seasoned instructors. Whatever this ‘beast’ was, Elora’s people could deal. This might be his best chance to rescue Rodney yet. “Get the girls to safety,” he ordered. “I’ll join you.”

He took off at a dead run before she could protest.

As he’d hoped, most of the traffic seemed to be heading in the direction of the school as children ran squawking and teachers followed behind desperately yelling commands that no one obeyed. Twice, John had to duck behind a tree to avoid being spotted and caught up in the confusion. He’d be out of luck if he encountered this beast himself. Fortunately, once he got down to the bridge, no one else was in sight. Since Everboys were known to spend hours running cross-country (when they weren’t pumping iron, or conducting mock fights), he felt confident in jogging across the bridge as though he had every right to be there.

Ahead, the demarcation between the “good” side and the “evil” side was clear. Beneath the stone bridge, clear blue water sparkled. As John kept running, dolphins skimmed beneath the surface and then arched into the air. They kept pace with him in a series of playful leaps until he came close to the line separating the two sides, and then they veered off at the last second.

Having had some experience with force fields in the past, John slowed to a walk. It wouldn’t do to plow headfirst into an energy barrier and knock himself out. As he reached the line where the cobblestones turned to broken slate, and the crystal clear blue water become black muck, he saw someone walking toward him. With a frown, he halted at the edge of the Ever side, and stared at a mirror image of himself on the opposite side of the bridge.

“Sorry,” his doppelganger drawled at him. “But no Ever can cross over to the School of Evil unless on a sanctioned trip with an instructor.”

John studied his doppleganger. He wondered if what he was seeing now bore any resemblance to the nightmare vision of himself Heightmeyer saw in her dream the night she died. The man standing on the other side of the bridge was dress in the same black garrison uniform John favored these days, but there was something feral about him—he looked as though he hadn’t shaved in two or three days, and the bags under his eyes (which John had noted staring back at him from time to time in his own bathroom mirror) were heavier and darker than usual. As John came to a halt at the very edge of the line, his mirror self on the opposite side took out a silver flask from his pocket and sipped its contents before replacing it, all while fixing John with a sneer.

“You don’t belong here,” his doppelganger said. “Look at you. White swan and everything. You’re _good_.” He made it sound like an insult.

John reached for the doppelganger, not surprised when he ran into an invisible barrier, only relieved that it didn’t cut off his fingers or shock him. He let his hand fall to his side and glanced down at the white swan emblem. All day long he’d been using it to justify his presence in the School of Good. Now he had to reverse tactics.

“That doesn’t mean anything.” He matched drawl for drawl. “You should know that as well as I do. As for me being good, I killed fifty Genii without a single regret.”

Evil John’s shoulder twitched in a Gallic shrug. “In defense of the city. Most people would call you a hero for that.”

“If we hadn’t been able to reverse that alien plant thing that took over Keller’s body, I would’ve killed her like that.” John snapped his fingers in his best Rodney imitation. He saw himself, clear as day, with gun in hand, to do just that if necessary.

His doppelganger rolled his eyes. “Again, to save the city.” His smile grew sly, a slow sort of Grinch-like spread over his face that made John’s skin crawl. “Perhaps to save Rodney, too. But then again, you had practice sacrificing expedition members to save others, didn’t you?”

“That’s right.” John shrugged as if it were no big deal, as if Sumner’s face didn’t haunt his dreams even to this day. “I killed my commanding officer so I could take over as CO of Atlantis.”

EvilJohn curled his lip. “No you didn’t. Being in charge was the last thing you wanted. And again, you did it to prevent the Wraith from finding the location of Earth. You saved the entire planet. Hero.” He flicked a piece of imaginary lint from his sleeve. “You didn’t have a choice. Hell, Sumner was begging you to kill him with his eyes.”

John had his measure now. This image was a reflection of his darker self, knew what he knew, knew what his blackest thoughts and fears were. He tried another parry. “I woke the Wraith. Hundreds of thousands of people have died because they came out of hibernation early.”

“Yeah?” The sneer was even more pronounced. “And yet you’ve reduced the Wraith to a shadow of their former selves. It may be generations before they’re ever a threat in Pegasus again, and by that time, the rest of the galaxy will be prepared for them. Don’t pull the “I woke the Wraith” card on me. Plu-eaze.” Another eyeroll.

“When my alien doppelganger got loose in Atlantis, I was glad Heightmeyer was the one who died.” John spoke slowly, deliberately. “Not Teyla. Not Ronon. Not Lorne. Not Rodney. Heightmeyer. I could spare her.”

EvilJohn frowned. “You could spare her?”

John nodded. Behind his back, he clenched his fist, steeling himself for what he was about to say. “I was the least invested in her survival. And hey, if someone had to die, then why not my therapist? All my secrets died with her.”

“Well, _shit_.” The doppelganger seemed taken aback. His eyebrows lifted as his mouth fell open. “You’re evil after all.” He stepped back and waved a hand toward the School behind him. “Go on. You belong there.”

John didn’t wait for a second invitation. He sprinted across the bridge.

****

The School of Evil was every bit as bad as he’d expected. The grand hall had a similar banner carved in stone above the stairs, but it read NEVERMORE in crumbling letters. Bats clung upside down to the rafters, and large ravens hopped along the upper banisters and crapped on anyone who happened too close beneath. A large crack spiderwebbed across the window at the top of the stairs, and the hallway was festooned with cobwebs. Fortunately, the hall was empty of staff or students.

John glanced at his watch. Everyone must be at lunch by now. His best bet for finding Rodney and sneaking him out of the School of Evil was to wait for him in his dorm room—Rodney would most likely go back there to pick up materials for his afternoon classes, right? That’s what all the Evers seemed to do. All John had to do was figure out which room Rodney was in without raising an alarm.

Since sneaking was impossible, he sauntered up the stairs with the air of ownership. Assuming the student housing would be set up in a similar fashion as the Ever School, he turned at the landing for side where the NeverBoys should be staying, and found himself in a corridor that stank of old cheese and wet gym socks. He skirted past a green pool of slime that had gathered outside one closed door, and set about trying to figure out which room was Rodney’s. If nothing else, he could wait in the corridor until the students came back from lunch, but he’d prefer to be tucked away in a room in case one of the instructors came down the hall.

Most of the doors opened when he turned the knob, and they were all nearly identical in their depressing sameness. Piles of dirty clothes, black robes strewn about, jars with smelly contents dripping on desktops—it was all pretty disgusting. A snake reared out of a basket and hissed when he pushed into one room; he shut the door hastily and moved on.

The fourth door he opened contained an occupant, a skinny boy with knobby elbows and a face only a mother could love. He looked up from his desk in surprise when John opened the door, and taking advantage of the kid’s hesitation, John barked out, “Rodney McKay. Where is he?”

The boy blinked for a moment before squeaking out, “The old guy?”

“He’s not that old,” John snapped. After all, Rodney was a year younger than him. “And yes. Him.”

“I haven’t seen him,” the boy said. He sat up straighter, eyes narrowing as he pointed at the emblem on John’s shirt. “That’s a white swan. You’re an Ever!”

“No, I’m not.” John smirked at the kid. “I’m a Never pretending to be an Ever. And it worked, too. I’ve been at the School of Good all morning.”

“Oooooh.” Admiration colored the boy’s voice. “I guess you’ll give McKay a run for his money as class Captain. He’d gotten two first places so far. But he’s also gotten a two last place scores, and since he got sent to the Doom Room—”

John cut him off. “The Doom Room? I heard some people yammering something about a beast getting out of the Doom Room. What do you know about that?”

All the blood left the kid’s face as though someone had punched a hole in his chest and drained it out. He went so deathly pale John took a half-step toward him. “The Beast is out? Oh man. I wonder if… I mean, Rodney was sent there not all that long ago….”

“What’s this Doom Room?” John demanded.

Something in his voice made the boy cringe back in his chair. “Um, it’s where the Nevers go to get tortured. Don’t the Evers have something like it?”

“No. They priss around in front of mirrors and shit.” John waved off the entire Ever population with a dismissive gesture. “What do you mean, torture?”

The boy stammered his answer. “The B-beast figures out your greatest fear and uses it against you.”

 _Shit_. Rodney had so many fears. Whales, radiation poisoning, his citrus allergy, sunburn, Wraith feedings, small talk at parties, high school dances, Replicators, conversations with stupid people, Genii with knives… the list was endless. John had to find him right away. “Where’s the Doom Room?”

“Er…” the boy obviously had never met anyone who _wanted_ to go to the Doom Room before. “It’s at the bottom of the castle, with the rest of the dungeons. Keep going down. I mean, you can’t miss it. Follow the screams.”

“Thanks, kid.”

It was a good thing John ran most days with Ronon. He jogged down the stairs at a good clip, blowing past a group of students who stared at him with open mouths.

“Did you see that guy? Man, he’s _hot_.” The acoustics in the vaulted hallway allowed the Nevergirl’s words to carry to him as he continued down the stairs.

“Maybe it’s a new twist on evil. You know, fool the Evers into thinking you’re one of them?”

It was just as well he was out of earshot before he heard the rest.

The bottom level was as grim as John expected. The walls were dank with damp and the dark corridors smelled of rust and mold. Rats squeaked as John jogged past them, and splattered through puddles of unidentified goo to get out of his way. The only light came from flickering torches along the walls. Every ten feet or so, there was a cell door, with a small, barred opening. Once, something threw itself at its prison door as John passed, but for the most part, the silence was deafening. Contrary to what the boy had said, there were no screams.

The words DOOM ROOM were painted above the closed door at the end of the corridor in glowing phosphorescent paint, which had dripped down from the letters like blood. The door swung open with a screech of rusty hinges when John pushed on it.

The room was outfitted with a rack, an Iron Maiden, several piles of shackles and chains, and a couple of irons resting in a metal pot over an open flame. Dark stains spattered across the floor and walls. A channel ran through the room filled with the murky black water of the moat outside. A slight flicker of movement suggested something big and ugly swam beneath its surface. If fear and despair had an odor, this room reeked of it.

But the room was empty. Neither Rodney nor the Beast were in sight.

He was too late.

John stood staring at the empty torture chamber, feeling the pull of despair drag him under, until he shook himself slightly and backed out of the room. No sooner had he crossed the threshold, then the weight of depression and loss lifted. Damn room must have some kind of force field on it that sapped your hope once you entered. The Beast wasn’t in the Doom Room. John knew that coming down here. Which meant Rodney hadn’t been tortured or killed. The Beast had probably already escaped before Rodney got there.

But where had Rodney gone after that? Where would Rodney go if he was freaking out—as John knew he must be—and wanted to feel safe?

John snapped his fingers and headed toward the classrooms.

He found Rodney in one of the labs, sitting on a stool and staring down at an array of powders and jars of foul-smelling liquids. John almost didn’t recognize him at first. The broad shoulders he’d often secretly admired were now twisted and humped, with one raised higher than the other. His hair, admittedly thinning for years, was almost gone, with only a few oily strands crossing a bald pate. One eye bulged slightly, and the other was no longer Atlantic-ocean blue but milky white, as though scarred. His hands were somewhat gnarled, and his fingers as thick as sausages as he carefully read a formula and lifted a beaker to pour a few drops of liquid into a dish. Acrid smoke boiled up with a hiss as the addition mixed with the potion.

“Rodney?”

Rodney’s hand jerked slightly and a drop of liquid spilled on the counter, steaming as it etched the surface of the granite table top. “Not now, damn it!”

“McKay. Snap out of it.”

Rodney looked up then, and for a long moment, John didn’t think Rodney recognized _him_. And then he set the beaker down and said, “Oh, it’s you.”

“Yeah, it’s me.” John crossed over to him and stood glaring down at him. “Jeezus, Rodney, what’s happened to you?”

Rodney hunched his neck down into his shoulders to the point he resembled a turtle. “Nothing. Why do you ask?”

“Um, in case you haven’t noticed, you’ve changed a bit since last night.”

Rodney shot him a glare brimming with malice. “Whereas _you_ haven’t changed at all.”

The riposte felt like a slap in the face. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” John snapped. Didn’t Rodney realize John was there to rescue him?

“You know what it means.” Rodney turned on his stool to face John. “Look at you. Every other Ever in the school has been made over into a Disney character but you’re still _you_. The cool one.”

John couldn’t believe his ears. Anger waged war with disbelief for the upper hand. “You’re mad at me because I’m not dressed like the other students?”

“Oh, never mind. You don’t understand.” Rodney waved his hand dismissively. “What do you want?”

“What do I want?” John wasn’t used to hearing his voice rise in pitch when he was pissed—that was more Rodney’s line—so he moderated his tone. It was all he could do not to speak through gritted teeth though. “I’m busting you out of here. Come on, we need to find the School Master.”

Rodney didn’t move. A flicker of something—regret?—flashed across his face, but John found he had a hard time reading Rodney’s expressions now. Whereas Rodney’s thoughts and emotions used to be right there for all the world to see, now there was something secretive about his expression. His face hardened and his words came out sharp. “Maybe I don’t want to go. Maybe I’m where I belong.”

“Don’t be an ass, McKay. That’s ridiculous.” A tinge of alarm rippled through John when Rodney continued to stare impassively at him. What the hell had gotten into him? Fine. John would simply play to Rodney’s vanity. “You want to stay here and lord it over a bunch of whiny school kids? Be my guest. Though I’m not sure I see much point in that.”

“You wouldn’t.”

The coolness in Rodney’s voice rattled John. Something was seriously wrong with him, and it probably had everything to do with this blasted school. John hardly knew what to say. He suddenly remembered the food in his pockets and fished it out. “Oh hey. Brought you something.”

The suspicious look on Rodney’s face gave way to eager anticipation. “What’s that? OMG, is that what I think it is?” He grabbed the candy and shortbread held it up to his nose for a deep inhalation. “My God. The food here stinks, you know that? This is like manna from heaven.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. More like decorations from the Good School.”

He’d been aiming for a little humor, but Rodney stopped shoveling the food into his mouth and glared. “Figures something this good would only be decorative in the Ever school.” Tough as it was to sneer with his mouth full, Rodney managed. He set down the remainder of the food and pushed it away. “It will probably make me sick. You should go back there where you belong.”

“Not without you.” The response was automatic, but it seemed to enrage Rodney.

“You don’t get it, do you? We’re not on the same side. You’re my Nemesis.”

“You don’t really believe that. Come on, Rodney.” It came out plaintive, with just the barest drawl.

Rodney blinked and then gave a heavy sigh. “Oh for Pete’s sake. Fine. I’ll come with you. You know I can’t stand it when you bleat ‘Rawd-ney’ at me.” He got to his feet and started toward John.

John wheeled and dropped in place beside Rodney as they walked to the door. “I don’t think I was bleating, McKay.”

“Yes, you were. Like a damned billy goat. Where exactly are we going?” Rodney shuffled along with a bit of a limp.

John chose not to comment on it. “The School Master’s office is at the top of a tower in the middle of the lake. If he’s not there when we get there, it’s a good bet the ring transporter is.”

“I’m not as familiar with Goa’uld tech as I am Ancient.”

“You’ll figure something out. You always do.” John wasn’t just bullshitting Rodney; he trusted McKay to come up with the eleventh hour miracles. But Rodney jerked his head up at John’s words, and something like gratitude flickered in his normal eye.

“So how are we supposed to get to the top of this tower in the middle of a lake?” The acerbic bite of Rodney’s words sounded more like him, and a little spurt of relief shot through John.

“I’ve got a plan.”

“Of _course_ you do.” Rodney rolled his eyes, but his grumpiness felt right to John.

They walked down the staircase in brisk unison. “Where is everyone?” Rodney wondered aloud as they reached the main hall. It was still empty.

“They’re probably out looking for some beast that escaped.” John shot Rodney a glance. Rodney’s face was bright red and had taken on that defensive look he got when he’d done something that hadn’t turned out the way he’d planned. “McKay. What do you know about that?”

“It’s not my fault,” Rodney whined, turning blustery as usual when backed into a corner. “We were casting hexes, and this kid who thinks he’s soooo bad leveled a spell at me and I warded it off, only it bounced onto the professor. I don’t know what all the fuss is about, because they keep telling us looks aren’t everything and the more horrible you look, the better the Never you are, but she got royally pissed and sent me to the Doom Room.”

John led the way out of the main doors and into the courtyard. On this side of the bridge, everything remained in shadow, and there was no hint of warmth to be found. “Yeah, I heard about that. You getting sent to the Doom Room, I mean. I was a bit worried about you, buddy. Tortured by your worst fears? That sounds rough.”

Rodney had gone suspiciously silent. John lifted an eyebrow at him as they crossed into the woods. “So what happened?”

“Well,” Rodney snapped. “There was this big ugly Beast. Hairy, smelled bad, drooled, glowing eyes, the works. He taunted me with all the things he _could_ have tortured me with. And then he told me what he was going to do to me.”

They walked along the narrow path between gnarled and twisted trees at what John thought of as “expedition pace”. Fast enough to get somewhere efficiently without calling too much attention to themselves. “Go on,” John encouraged, when Rodney stopped talking.

Rodney grabbed him by the arm and spun John around to face him. “He was going to make me stupid. Like with the brain parasite all over again.”

“Oh he was, was he?” John couldn’t help it; his voice dropped into that silky register it got when he was about to open a can of whoop-ass on someone.

A hint of a crooked smile creased Rodney’s face. “Yeah, well, so I made a deal with him. Leave me alone and I’d release him from the Doom Room.”

John barked out his laughter. “McKay, that’s brilliant.” He clapped Rodney on the shoulder. “Bet no one’s thought of that before. And you know what? All the confusion searching for the Beast is what let me sneak into this school to find you.” He didn’t add it was just as well. By this evening, Rodney might have completely turned into someone John no longer knew.

Rodney straightened his shoulders infinitesimally, and John recognized the slight back and forth movement as being part of the ‘invulnerable’ dance he did when he was particularly pleased with himself. “You did come looking for me.” He spoke as though he’d begun to doubt, and more than anything, that cut through John like a knife.

“Of course I did.” John frowned, pushing at his shoulder with a ‘you idiot’ gesture. “You didn’t think I would?”

“No. I mean yes. I mean, no, I knew you’d come.” Rodney cleared his throat, obviously embarrassed. “So what’s this plan of yours? And how much am I going to hate it?”

John flashed him a wicked grin. “You tell me.” He put his fingers to his lips and blew a piercing whistle.

Rodney clapped his hands over his ears and scowled. “What are you doing? Trying let every demon and ghoul know where we are?”

Rodney had a point, but John hoped it wouldn’t come to that. “I did some recon earlier today, and I noted there were two creatures who could fly on this planet. The first are the gargoyles, but they’re confined to the rooftops. Probably some kind of spell. Which is just as well, seeing as they seem to be Wraith-derived. But the other? You’ll see.” He heard the sweep of wings overhead, and looked up with a smile as the large creature descended to the clearing just ahead of the through the trees. He fished around in his pocket and came up with the bit of peppermint-flavored cornice he’d broken off that morning.

“Is that—?” Rodney gaped as the animal folded its wings and trotted along the path toward them. As the Pegasus reached them, he slowed to a walk and approached John’s open hand cautiously.

“Yep.” John grinned. “Only makes sense to have a Pegasus here.”

The gleaming white Pegasus had to be at least 17 hands tall, with a back as wide as a sofa. He and Rodney could easily sit on its back and still have room for the movement of the wings. The tricky part would be convincing McKay he wouldn’t fall off. Trickier because John wasn’t 100% sure of that himself.

The white stallion lipped the peppermint out of John’s hand and nuzzled his palm for more. But when Rodney shifted slightly, the Pegasus reared his head back and pinned his ears. A second later he snaked his head toward Rodney, snapping his big teeth together with an audible _clack_.

“This isn’t going to work.” Rodney cringed back behind John from the stallion’s aggressive display. “Look, you go on without me. I’m a Never. He’s never going to let me anywhere near him.”

“Go on without you?” John broke eye contact with the Pegasus long enough to glare at Rodney. “What the hell are you talking about? I’m here to _get_ you. We’re going home.”

Rodney just shook his head and shook a finger at the stallion. “Not on that thing, we’re not.”

John pushed his hand down as the Pegasus snapped, just missing Rodney’s finger. “Try not calling him a ‘thing.’ It’ll be okay. Trust me.”

“I don’t think so. Not this time.”

John spun and took Rodney by the shoulders to give him a little shake. “You listen to me. I’m not giving up, you hear? I refused to give up when you had brain worms and I’m not giving up now.”

Rodney straightened under his touch, shoulders not quite as crooked as before. A slow smile spread across his face, full of childlike wonder. “I remember that. You’re a stubborn bastard.”

“Well, nothing’s changed. Look. You’re my Nemesis, right?” John spoke with deliberation as he gave Rodney that look. The one that said, ‘play along with me on this one.’

Rodney frowned, and then his expression lightened as comprehension dawned. “Um, okay. Yes?”

“So, since I captured you, it only makes sense for me to take you to the School Master to claim my reward, right?” John cut his eyes sideways at the Pegasus, which had dropped its head to pick at the sparse grass nearby.

“Sure.” Rodney didn’t sound sure at all. “If you say so.”

“I do. So, because I’m an Ever,” John laid heavy emphasis on the word, “and I know horses, this Pegasus here is going to take us to the School Master’s chamber at the top of the tower.”

At the word ‘horse’, the Pegasus flung up his hand and his ears flicked back once more.

“Er, no offense,” John said, feeling foolish apologizing to the animal.

Rodney snorted. So did the Pegasus, but he stood as though waiting for John’s command.

Rodney suddenly snapped his fingers and crowed, “I’ve got it! I know which Disney character you are. You’re Flynn Rider and he’s Maximus.”

Both John and the Pegasus turned to glare at Rodney, which made him laugh. It might have been John’s imagination, but as a wide smile creased Rodney’s face, his scarred eye seemed a bit clearer—almost back to its original blue.

John swung back to the Pegasus. “I need your help taking my—er—Nemesis to the School Master. We can’t do it without you.”

The Pegasus twitched his ears forward and whickered softly before placing his muzzle in John’s hand. “I think he understands.”

As if to prove John’s point, the white stallion dropped to his knees and spread his wings wide.

“Come on.” John dragged Rodney over to the kneeling Pegasus and assisted him in swinging a leg over the stallion’s back.

“How are we supposed to stay on?” Rodney’s voice quavered as John mounted behind him. “How long has it been since you’ve ridden a horse anyway?”

“You don’t forget something like that. It’s just like riding a bike.” John molded his body to Rodney’s and reached around him to grab two fistfuls of mane. “You just hang on.”

The Pegasus gave a little crow hop, and Rodney yelped. “Just like riding a bicycle that’s determined to kill you, you mean!”

“Stop calling him a horse then.” John closed his legs around the stallion’s sides and clucked, the sound coming naturally after a lifetime of doing the same.

The great white wings snapped up and tucked in close to the stallion’s sides, almost as though he were sheltering John and Rodney with them. Instead of lifting into the air as expected, the Pegasus tossed his head and sprang into a gallop. His hooves thudded along the dirt path as he lowered his head and poured on the steam.

A thin keening sound tore its way out of Rodney’s throat and he stiffened back against John. “What’s going on? Why is he running away with us?”

“Relax, McKay.” John ordered, doing his best to envelop Rodney with his body. “He probably needs to build up speed to take off with the two of us on board. Stop resisting.”

But Rodney was rigid with fear, and in danger of bouncing the two of them off the Pegasus altogether. “Relax, Rodney.” John pressed in close to speak into Rodney’s ear and wrapped one arm around his chest. “Move with me. Like sex.”

For a split second, John feared mentioned sex might have been a big mistake. Rodney could be such an odd duck at times. The strangest things embarrassed him. But something he said got through to Rodney. Instead of bracing back against the stallion’s neck, which forced John back as well, Rodney suddenly relaxed into his embrace. What had been wrong was now right, and the two of them melted together. One with each other and the stallion. With the black, muddy path below, and the bright blue open sky above. The bent and twisted trees parted, and an emerald-green field beckoned ahead in the bright sunshine. The stallion flattened even further, picked up more speed, and burst into the clearing. The wings snapped open like sails on a sloop. The stallion galloped on, crossing the field in huge, ground-eating strides. He sprang into the air, and the wings swept down several strong strokes as they lifted slowly. A moment’s bobble had Rodney clutching John by the arm, but the Pegasus straightened and the wing-strokes became more confident.

“We’re doing it!” Exhilaration shot through John. “Are you seeing this, McKay? We’re flying!”

“I can’t look.” Rodney was back to hunching his shoulders, and from the way he turned his head, John could tell he had his eyes scrunched shut.

“You have to look.” John nudged him with his arm. “We’re clearing the treeline, and you can see the entire layout of the land. The forest looks like it goes on forever on all sides of the school.”

“Hence the name, Endless Forest,” Rodney grumbled, but at least he sounded a bit more like the Rodney John knew.

They continued to climb above the trees, the stallion’s powerful wings beating downward in great, rhythmic strokes that made a faint ‘whoosh’ of sound. The lift was gradual but steady, and John imagined it was a bit like flying in an old-style biplane. He wondered, not for the first time, about the men who’d decided launching themselves off the side of a cliff in a wooden and cloth airplane was a good idea.

A grin split his face as the Pegasus wheeled toward the tower in the lake. Who was he kidding? John would have been one of those early flight pioneers, given the chance. Who’d miss out on this?

He could feel Rodney’s tension mounting again they higher they flew, however.

“Relax,” John warned, tightening his arm around Rodney.

“Easy for you to say.” The wind whipped Rodney’s words back to him, but the note of complaint was crystal clear.

“You’ve flown with me before.”

“Yes, yes. With _you_. In a puddle jumper. In an F-302. Which, by the way, had both seatbelts and inertial dampeners.” Fear crackled like electricity in Rodney’s voice. “This beast is not under your control and we don’t even have a saddle. So pardon me if I’m just a little bit stressed about this flight, okay?”

John chuckled in his ear. “We couldn’t both fit in a saddle. You don’t trust this because the Pegasus is a living creature. Everything’s better with science, eh?”

“Science doesn’t betray you. Science doesn’t let you down.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask Rodney just who he’d thought betrayed him recently, but they were fast approaching the tower. That’s when Rodney noticed the tiny flaw in John’s plan.

“How exactly are we supposed to get inside the tower? All I see is that small ledge there. There’s no place to land.”

John tugged on the stallion’s mane at the same time he signaled the turn with his legs. The Pegasus curved closer to the narrow strip of stone along the pointed cap of the tower. Wide enough for a man to walk along, it certainly wouldn’t support a Pegasus. “Yeah. About that. Get ready to jump.”

“Excuse me, what? Did you say jump? What are you smoking? Because if you think I’m going to willingly throw myself off this animal when we’re at least 60 meters from the ground, you’ve got another think—shit!”

Rodney’s last word came out in a screech as the Pegasus bucked mid-air and then rolled to one side. John clamped his arms around Rodney as though they were sharing the same parachute when the two of them slipped off the Pegasus and dropped onto the stone ledge. He executed a half-turn mid-air so the two of them landed on their sides, and managed to slide one arm up to shield their heads as they landed with a thump.

Second time today he’d been dumped onto a hard surface. He was going to feel that in the morning.

“Ow!” Rodney complained, and started to wiggle out of John’s embrace.

“Careful,” he warned, pinning Rodney’s arms before he could flail and roll them both off the ledge. Once he was certain Rodney would move with more caution, he extricated himself out from beneath Rodney. They both sat up.

Steam practically boiled out of Rodney’s ears. “Are you monumentally stupid or just clinically insane? No, wait. Don’t answer that. I’m sure the answer is both.”

Given the strong temptation to lean in and kiss Rodney, just to see what he would do, John merely smirked and said, “Got us here, didn’t I?”

“If there isn’t a door and we’re stuck up here, I will push you off the side so fast it will make your head spin.”

“Of course, there’s a door.” At least, John certainly hoped there was, because they were out of options if there wasn’t.

Fortunately, there was a door. The knob turned easily in John’s hand, and it opened into a cool, dark, stairwell.

“By all means,” Rodney snarked, “let’s go down. Nothing bad could happen down there, could it? You first.”

John didn’t really have a good comeback for that one, so he led the way. The stairs spiraled down the tower, the only source of light coming from slits in the stone walls. The stairs opened onto a landing before continuing down the length of the tower. On the other side of the landing stood a huge wooden door, the panels held together with bands of metal and bolts as big as John’s fist.

“It had better not be locked,” Rodney said. “If we’ve come all this way…”

“If it locked, we’ll figure out a way in. Come on, McKay, it’s not like you to give up this easily.”

But as they approached the door, it swung open.

“That can’t be good.” Rodney rolled his good eye toward John.

For once John had to agree. But he shook off his doubts and entered the room.

“It’s like the TARDIS,” Rodney breathed when he followed John inside.

Rodney was right. The room they stood in was much bigger on the inside than it could possibly be on the outside. The walls were lined with books and more of the paintings John had seen stacked in the storeroom earlier that day, only these had been kept in immaculate condition. Wine-red velvet drapes hung by tall glass windows that opened out onto the campus below. A huge desk stood at one end of the room, complete with a board director’s leather chair. Behind the desk, a cuckoo clock kept time with a steady ticking sound. In the center of the room, standing on a rich carpet that would make the Persians cry with envy, was a heavy worktable, the surface of which was scarred and battered. An old-style map hung from a roller on the wall behind the desk, depicting the schools and the grounds surrounding them. In a massive hearth, a fire crackled and popped merrily. A giant globe sat just inside the entrance to the room, but instead of the typical blue and green depictions of land masses and oceans, the globe was painted black.

“Look at this.” Rodney turned the globe slowly. “It’s the Pegasus galaxy.”

“What?” John stopped assessing the room for threats and frowned at Rodney. “Globes don’t map galaxies.”

“This one does. Look here. These are gate addresses.” Rodney touched a single point of light and a tiny map of a planet appeared above it. “I bet this is how he does it. Decides who to bring back, I mean.”

“Well, I’ll be damned.” John wondered if there was a way they could bring the globe back with them. It looked like a powerful source of information.

Rodney removed his hand from the globe and the map disappeared. He inhaled sharply and nudged John. “What’s that?”

John turned to see a large knife hovering over the worktable. It seemed to be moving slightly. The glow from the fire caught the edge of the blade, and John could see the flames reflected in it. They danced across the steel in a mesmerizing play of light and shadow. Rodney said something behind him, but it was as though he were speaking under water. The pull of the blade was too hard to ignore.

“It’s not a knife,” John said as he leaned closer to look. “It’s a pen.”

A log shifted in the fire, sending sparks shooting up the chimney. The changing light bounced off the steel shaft of the pen, and John had to shield his eyes from the reflected glare as a brilliant gold beam spangled across the table.

The next thing he knew, he’d been tackled by Rodney and the two of them lay sprawled against the table.

“What the—?” John glanced around and pushed at Rodney, who was crushing him. “What are we doing on the table?”

“OMG. It was like the crystal entity, the one that produced your alien doppelganger. You just can’t resist touching anything, can you?”

“I wasn’t going to to—” John’s gaze drifted up toward the pen.

“Yes, you were. You’re like a kid in a toy store. You can’t resist touching things.”

“McKay.” John spoke in a warning whisper, not taking his eyes off the pen. “Shut up.”

Rodney stiffened, and then appeared to notice the pen was no longer pointing straight down at the table but had swiveled to aim an arrow-sharp tip at the two of them. It vibrated in place, the tip oscillating slightly between the two of them, like a needle on a compass, as if determining who to strike first.

Rodney took a deep breath, but John ground out, “Don’t move.”

The tip of the pen glowed red-hot and a wisp of black smoke curled up from it.

“Move!” John ordered, sweeping Rodney to the floor with him. Something thudded on the table above them. After a long moment when nothing happened, John could make out a faint scritching sound. He exchanged glances with Rodney, and together, the two of them risked a peek over the edge of the table.

A large leather-bound book that hadn’t been there before now lay in the middle of the workspace. It had opened to the first blank page, and the pen now scratched lines across it. Rodney craned his neck to read aloud. “Once upon a time, there were two men.”

“Is that supposed to be us?” John asked.

The pen hesitated, and then wrote the next sentence **. Boys, really.**

“Oh har-dee-har-har,” Rodney said. “If you think for one minute that sounds like us—”

**One was foolishly brave because he thought deep down he wasn’t worth saving. The other thought he was smarter than anyone else he knew. They were both wrong.**

“Okay, that’s not funny.” Rodney glowered at the pen for a moment before turning a frown on John. “What did it mean by—”

“How very odd.” A gentle voice made them both turn. But there was no one there.

“Students train for years at my school in the hopes that one day, the Storian will deem their stories worth telling.”

Back to back, John and Rodney scanned the room for the speaker, but no one was there. Then Rodney hissed and pointed. “Look!”

The light from the fire had cast their shadows on the wall behind them, but as Rodney pointed, the shadows coalesced together to form one shadow which peeled away from the wall and approached them. It was the dark robed figure John had seen kidnapping Rodney the night before.

The Story Master.

He pushed back the black hood to reveal white hair that fell to his shoulders. A rusted crown sat on his head, and a silver mask covered the top part of his face. Green eyes gleamed in the firelight, and his well-formed lips curved into a devilish smile. “And to think a pair of unskilled, untrained, clumsy _intruders_ from the Milky Way, a pair of misfits no less, already have their own story.” He nodded to the book. “It must suspect a good ending.”

John bristled at the mention of the Milky Way, but the Story Master seemed to know all about them already.

 **One was handsome and admired by all, and the other dreaded and avoided by those who knew him**.

“I wouldn’t go _that_ far.” Rodney grumbled, shooting a malevolent glare at the Storian.

“People whisper that I kidnap you against your will. That I steal you from your lives.” The School Master smiled. “Nothing could be further from the truth. I free you to live _extraordinary_ lives.”

“I dunno.” John drawled slowly. “I think our lives were pretty damned extraordinary already.”

Rodney whipped his head around to peer at John.

“Come on, McKay.” John lifted an eyebrow at him. “Going through a wormhole to another galaxy? Finding the lost city of Atlantis? How about all that cool tech? And the scientific discoveries you make nearly every day? And let’s not forget the life-and-death adventures we have on a weekly basis.”

“He’s right.” Rodney frowned at the School Master. “Our lives weren’t exactly boring before we got here.”

“As a matter of fact,” John added, “we don’t need a Storian to tell our stories. There are hundreds of people telling our stories every day. Heck, every member of the expedition is writing their own story even as we speak.”

“Yeah,” Rodney chimed in with a little fist pump. “You can’t contain us to a single…” he paused while he searched for the word he wanted and then snapped his fingers and wagged an index finger at the School Master. “Canon. We’re more than just one vision, one story.”

“So.” John spread his hands wide, palms up. “You might as well let us go.”

“I only brought one of you here.” The Story Master bared his teeth in a not-very-nice smile. He nodded to John. “You are free to go.”

“Wait, what?” Rodney reared back as though he’d been slapped.

“I’m not leaving without him,” John snapped. “I came here to get him.”

“Why is that?” The School Master asked softly. His robes flowed as he circled around the two men. “Why bother?”

‘Why bother?” John spared Rodney a quick glance. He was back to hunching his shoulders again, one higher than the other, with a decidedly Igor look about him as he ducked his head and glared back defiantly. “Because.” John weighed his words carefully. “Because he’s not a Never. He’s the bravest man I know.”

“Brave?” Rodney sputtered. “I know what you and the others say about me. How I complain about every little thing, and how I’m certain something on every mission is going to kill us all. I’m not the one haring off on suicide missions to save the world, or climbing walls to save the city, or dragging myself out of sickbay with a piece of rebar sticking out of me. ‘No, no, I’m fine’, Colonel I-have-another-kidney.” Rodney mimed clutching his side and limping a step toward the imaginary sickbay door.

“You’re usually right about everything wanting to kill us.” John flashed him a quick grin. “But as far as bravery, yeah, everything scares you. But you get the job done anyway. And that’s who I want at my back. On my team.” _In my life_. He couldn’t bring himself to say the words, but he meant them, just the same.

“You can’t possibly be friends.” The School Master’s words whipped them around to face him again. "That’s impossible. No Ever is friends with a Never. Perhaps it’s true then. I’m getting old, and it’s time for me to retire.” His eyes seemed to glow brighter as he fixed his gaze on Rodney. “Perhaps it’s time I had a successor. This could all be yours, Rodney McKay of Canada. You could be the next School Master. In charge of everything here. In charge of everyone’s destinies.”

Rodney’s mouth dropped open slightly, and he flicked a glance around the luxurious room. For a moment, he seemed more troll-like than ever. His “good” eye bulged, and the scarred eye grew even more opaque. With an audible creak, his spine twisted, and he shrank as his vertebrae settled into a new, more compressed shape.

“Rodney, no.” John touched him on the arm. “We need you back in Atlantis.”

John could see the conflict in his eyes, but then Rodney gave a little nod. He lifted his chin and said to the School Master, “Thanks, but no thanks. We want to go home.”

“Very well.” The School Master’s words came out clipped, short. Anger buzzed in every sentence. “I believe it’s customary to offer you a riddle. Solve it, and you may go.”

“A riddle?” Rodney rubbed his hands together. “Smartest man in two galaxies here. Bring it on.”

“Fine. What is the one thing Evil can never have, but that Good can never do without?” The School Master folded his arms across his chest as if daring them to solve that one.

Rodney repeated the riddle to himself several times, tapping his head with his fist and walking in a small circle as he did so. “The one thing Evil can never have…”

The School Master indicated the clock. “When the cuckoo comes out, your time is up.”

“Wait, you didn’t say anything about a deadline!” Rodney blazed.

The School Master shrugged. “Every adventure needs a countdown of some sort. To ramp up the suspense, don’t you know?”

“Forget him. Concentrate on the riddle, Rodney.” John urged.

“That’s all fine and well for you to say. Your story will turn out just fine. You’re the _hero_.” As though he’d opened a tap, vitriol poured out of Rodney. “I’m the villain, remember? I’ll end up vanquished and deceased. No doubt dying in some horrible manner.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, McKay.” John willed Rodney to hold his gaze, to see nothing else in the room. “You’re telling the story wrong. It’s a buddy movie, okay? _Two_ heroes who ride off into the sunset together.”

The frown that formed on Rodney’s face would have been humorous had the situation not been so dire. A ripple of comprehension washed across his expression, only to melt into despair. “Of course, the graves. That’s what it means.”

The School Master stiffened, and withdrew slightly.

“What the hell are you talking about?” John asked, searching Rodney’s face for clues.

“I saw a vision during class.” Rodney turned his woebegone puppy look on John. “Nevers and Evers being buried in a graveyard. The Evers were always buried in pairs. The Nevers were alone. Don’t you see?” He grabbed John by the forearms. “The answer is _love_. You can only leave if you’re loved. We didn’t know Ronon all that well, but we cared enough about him to free him from being a Runner. And because we came to love him, he got out of the Storybook to tell his own stories. Only no one loves a Never.”

John noted that the School Master relaxed slightly. They had to be missing something. Keeping the School Master in his line of sight, he focused on Rodney again. “Then you’re not a Never, McKay. People love you, right? You almost married Katie Brown. And you dated Keller there for a while. And remember the time when you almost Ascended? We all stood around and told you how much we loved you.”

“Yeah, but Ronon wasn’t a Never. I am. That has to be the difference.”

“No.” John swept the room with a glance and saw that the vast majority of the paintings depicted Evers in a passionate embrace while a Nemesis lay either dead at their feet or gnashing his teeth in the background. “It’s not love itself.” He brought his gaze back to Rodney’s face, locking eyes with him. “It’s a kiss from your One True Love. See?” He indicated the paintings with a tip of his head.

Rodney’s face fell. “OMG. You’re right. And I’m screwed. I’ve never been kissed by my One True Love and I never will because they don’t exist.”

“Never say never, McKay.” John grasped Rodney on either side of his face, aware that the School Master had brought up his hands in clenched fists even as John planted one on Rodney’s lips.

After the first moment of stunned surprise, Rodney stopped making noises of protest and his lips suddenly parted with a moan that went straight to John’s cock as though there was an electrical circuit connecting the two. John mashed into him, and Rodney grabbed back, hands in each other’s hair, lips locked as though they were dying of thirst and they’d found the only oasis in existence. He could feel Rodney changing beneath his touch, back straightening, hair coming back in, shoulders returning to their former strength and breadth.

The School Master let out an expletive, and then there was mechanical clanging as the transport rings dropped down around them, spotlighting them in the middle. Still, John didn’t break the kiss, for fear of losing the window of transport. With a whoosh of sound much like pneumonic doors shutting on a subway, the rings activated and whisked them away.

Alarms sounded in the background as the rings deposited them in the middle of the gate room on Atlantis. Marines rushed down the stairs and in from the sides to take positions, weapons drawn, only to hesitate and stand down when they saw their commanding officer and chief science officer locked in an embrace.

Reluctantly, John pulled away. Rodney stared at him, both eyes their normal blue once more, shining with a kind of stunned surprise.

“Time!” Chuck called from the upper deck.

Heads turned to look at him, before a kind of ragged cheer went up from the various personnel. Ronon and Teyla jogged down the stairs, followed by a cautiously smiling Lorne.

“Welcome back, sir.” Lorne said. “Queen to Rook 5.”

“That would be the old descriptive notation of chess moves that was in use before 1980.” Rodney snapped out of his trance and frowned at Lorne. “You should really be using the algebraic notation. I can’t believe you're using something so out of date as your password phrase.”

“Bishop to Knight 1.” John said, noting when Lorne relaxed and nodded.

“That’s not even a real move!” Rodney protested.

“That’s kind of the point, McKay.” John drawled. It felt good to be home.

“Well, McKay’s certainly normal.” Ronon’s grin was suspiciously sly. “As for Sheppard, all I can say is about time.”

“Wait.” Rodney narrowed his eyes and glared up at Chuck where he sat smiling down at them from his station. “What’s this time thing all about?”

“I believe there was a pool regarding the time and date as to when the two of you would… ah… reveal your true feeling for each other.” Teyla looked supremely satisfied for some reason.

The tips of John’s ears flushed so hotly they itched. He rubbed one as he asked, “I suppose either you or Ronon won the pool?”

“No, actually it was myself. Good jackpot, too. Most people guessed a much earlier time before now. ” From the upper level, Woolsey tugged the end of his uniform down sharply before a smile made a brief appearance on his normally haughty face. He glanced at his timepiece. “Debrief in one hour? I trust that will give you time to get checked out by sickbay and cleaned up?”

John looked around at all the smiling, laughing faces surrounding them. This is where he and Rodney belonged. And if there were any stories to be told about them, it would be on their terms, with the people they cared about at their sides. His hand gravitated toward Rodney’s, only to fall back to his side. He might have declared his feelings for Rodney with Love’s True Kiss, but he was the military CO after all. No PDA.

Still, there were perks to being in charge. He cut a sideways glance at Rodney, who seemed to be bursting out of his skin with a need to be somewhere else. John had a pretty good idea where. He gave Rodney a little nod, who then lit up like a kid on Christmas morning seeing all his presents to unwrap. “Better make that two hours.”

They started together for the crew quarters at a brisk walk, only to break into a laughing run as they turned the corner. They were both out of breath when they reached Rodney’s rooms.

John reached for Rodney as soon as the doors closed, but Rodney pulled back as their lips would have met.

“Do you think the Storian is still documenting our story?” He gave the bed a speaking glance before making eye contact with John again.

It was marvelous to see those intelligent blue eyes again, even if they were a little worried right now.

“Maybe,” John murmured. “But it’s not like we can stop it if it is. Besides, for all we know, everyone we’ve ever met is making up stories about us. Putting us in adventures, risking our lives, giving us amazing sex lives…”

It was meant to be a joke, but given Rodney’s strange anxieties, it could have been the wrong thing to say. But somehow, it was exactly the right thing.

“Well, then.” Rodney murmured as he twisted his fists into John’s T-shirt—which no longer sported a white swan, thank goodness—and pulled him closer. “Let’s give them something to talk about, shall we?”


End file.
